A Child of Trouble
by Zane's Girl- Jo
Summary: The bomb blast brings back some frightening memories for one of the NCIS team and his family. So when the rest of the team find out his past- a past filled to the brim with violence, death and loss- can they help him overcome what's broken him? Or will he become another statistic? Established McGiva.
1. Chapter 1

**A Child of Trouble**

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Summary: The bomb blast brings back some frightening memories for one of the NCIS team and his family. So when the rest of the team find out his past- a past filled to the brim with violence, death and loss- can they help him overcome what's broken him? Or will he become another statistic? Established McGiva.**

_Late September, 1985_

"Timmy! Timmy,_ wai'_ for _me_!"

_"Ye'll 'ave t' catch me, Sarah!" _

_"Timmy, wai' up!"_

The two children dashed through the green landscape, enjoying the cool grass beneath their bare feet. It was one of the rare times when their mother had allowed them outside to play, and so the children had packed sandwiches and juice and dashed off to join their friends. Or, well,_ he_ had, and his baby sister had tagged along, like she was prone to do. The older sibling picked up his pace, rushing towards the spot his friends were waiting at, a small glimmer of desperate hope that his sister would give up and decide to go home shining in his heart, only to be dashed when he felt her small arms wrap around his legs. _"Sarah!"_

He turned, pushing himself up on his elbows to see his baby sister laying in the grass with him, a grin on her features. Laughter caused him to turn, finding his two best friends- Ian O'Brien and Jackie Collins- sitting in the grass by the cliff side that overlooked the sea, watching him with mirth in their eyes. "_Loo's_ like she _caugh' ye_, Timmy!" Ian cried, as the boy in question sat up, pulling his legs from his sister's grasp.

"Oh, _shu'_ up, _'tis no'_ funny!" He replied, climbing to his feet and helping his sister. He sighed. "Remind me _again_ why_ Mams sai' ye_ could come?" The four-year-old just grinned at her brother, before wrapping her arms around him.

"_B'cause ye_ love me." His friends started laughing again, but they quickly shut up when the boy turned to glare at them. After a moment, he tugged his sister towards them, and the four sat, enjoying their sandwiches and the cool, salty wind that rose up from the sea below them.

It was rare, that children could be out and about by themselves- especially ones as young as Timmy and his friends and his sister, but since they'd said they were going to the 'meadow' as they called it- really, just a grassy knoll outside of Derry, the city where the children lived in Northern Ireland- their parents had allowed them to go, all slightly grateful that they would be away from the violence that gripped the streets most of the night. They had promised to return home before the strict seven o'clock curfew that had been enforced on the city in the days before and- especially- after the massacre in 'seventy-two.

The children knew very little of the killings that had rocked their town in that day- since most had been born after- but they had all heard the stories of the peaceful protesters who had marched in Bogside that day, only to be shot at by British paratroopers who were there to stop the protest. In the end, twenty-six had been wounded, and thirteen killed in what was now forever to be referenced as _Domhnach na Fola,_ 'Bloody Sunday.'

Timmy and his sister Sarah knew that their family had a personal connection to the massacre- Timmy's aunt Fiona had been wounded in the protest. She was John McGee's younger sister, the third of four children born to the American Naval Captain and the Irish actress. John and his siblings had grown up in Ireland, only going to America to spend summers and visit their father's family. And when John ha gone to Dublin University at seventeen, he'd met Kathleen Donovan, an American exchange student from California. The two were night and day, hadn't gotten along at all when they first met, but over time, their dislike had grown and shifted into love, resulting in marriage not long after graduation. Timmy had been born in September seventy-nine, and Sarah had followed, two years later, in spring of eighty-one.

They played in the grass for the next two hours- Tag, Follow the Leader, anything they could think of- before deciding it was time to go home. As they returned, laughing and talking as they made their way through the streets of Derry, none of them noticed the car pull up near the curb, or the man get out. Timmy held tight to his baby sister's hand, Mams's warning ringing loud in his ears.

_"Ye look aft'r yer sist'r, Timothy. Ye're 'er big broth'r, 'tis yer duty t' look aft'r an' protect 'er. If I find ou' ye 'aven't, well, ye'll no longer be me fav'rite son."_

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it; he was her _only_ son, and therefore, her absolute favorite of the other sons she didn't have. But Kathleen was prone to worry- especially after Fiona's scare- but she also allowed her children the freedom to be responsible. And while John was back in the States, Kathleen made absolutely sure that her children knew their responsibilities and followed them to the T.

It sucked, having the be the disciplinarian when her husband was away.

Normally, by now, they'd all be in America with John, living on base, but because the kids had just started a new school year, the couple had decided that the best decision would be for Kathleen and the children to stay in Ireland, so as not to uproot Timmy and Sarah's studies; they would all be together in America for the spring holidays.

The cool fall weather sent the leaves rustling to the ground; it was uncommon for all of Ireland to change with the leaves, and this particular part of the Northern half of the country always seemed to change later than the rest. Not that the kids minded. They were enjoying the green grass and the warm breezes, the last holdouts of summer before winter came, shoving out fall and bringing about Christmas.

As they passed by the car, laughing and joking, time seemed to stop. Buildings shook and a people screamed; a strange, unfamiliar ripple effect moved through the air, hitting everyone within its reach and throwing them all to their feet.

The last sound Timmy heard was the deafening pitch of someone- no, _something_- screaming before darkness took all sound away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: The majority o' these chapt'rs 'ave been writt'n, I jus' 'aven't 'ad time t' post 'em until now...**

**Thanks to puppypants, guest, Sarcastic-5ever and Reader for reviewing 1.**

_Washington, D.C,_

_2012_

The first sound he heard, was the high-pitched scream of something in the distance- a siren, he realized now.

Slowly, his eyes opened, but he snapped them shut again, not wanting to see the destruction he knew was most likely around him. The last thing he remembered was downloading the information the team needed to catch Dearing- before the windows blew out and the building shook. People were thrown off their feet, a familiar ripple shooting through the air as the bomb went off.

A moment passed, before he forced his eyes open, and then slowly pushed himself up. The sight of the destruction that met him was something all too familiar, something he'd witnessed before, years ago. Windows blown out, people scattered about the ground, screaming, crying, blood. As he slowly climbed to his feet, he felt the familiar panic begin to take hold.

_I 'ave t' ge' t' Sarah-_

But he stopped, glancing around, finally seeing everything for the first time. However, none of it clicked-

Sarah. He had to get to Sarah.

As he started towards the stairs, he met Gibbs. "Where's Tony and Ziva?" He just furrowed a brow, not recognizing the names, or the name before him. The Team Leader turned back from trying a phone and finding no dial tone. "Hey, Tim!" When the younger man looked up, it was then that he realized that he wasn't seeing anyone or anything around him. "_Where's_ Tony and_ Ziva_?" If he could get the younger agent to answer that simple question-

"Who?" He shook his head before continuing towards the stairs. "I... I have to find S-"

Again, he stopped.

_No, no' Sarah. Ziva. Ye 'ave t' find Ziva._

Ziva, his partner, his lover, his... his _fiancée_. Of course, how could he possibly forget about her? She was the love of his life, the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with...

"Hey! Tim, stop!" He turned back, not having moved, but Gibbs came towards him anyway. Gently, he pushed aside the jacket Tim wore- the jacket Ziva loved and often stole- revealing a large, jagged piece of glass embedded in his side. Gibbs looked up, catching his younger agent's eye, and gently, he reached up, cradling the agent's cheek in his rough, worn hand, thumb gently working over the apple of his cheek.

"Uh-oh." Gibbs nodded.

"Come on, let's get you to an ambulance. That's it, easy-" He let Gibbs lead him out of the building, only looking back long enough for his gaze to land on the elevator. Something told him that the woman he loved was there, that she was safe, but he couldn't be sure.

As Gibbs led his younger agent out to the ambulance, inside the elevator, Ziva was hanging up the phone for the tenth time. "Ziva, relax, I'm sure McGee's fine." She glared at her companion, who sat back against the far wall, watching her.

"We don't know that, Tony! When I last saw Tim, he was working on downloading the information we needed to catch Dearing! If the bomb exploded where I think it did, then he was right in the middle of it! He could be hurt, he could be-" She stopped, now allowing herself to say the word, even though her traitorous mind screamed it.

_Dead, he could be dead._

She looked down at her hand, studying the beautiful, simple emerald and diamond engagement ring resting on her finger. It had been his paternal grandmother's, his mother's, and the beautiful Claddagh ring shone amid the dust and debris and darkness she and Tony were trapped in. Within the grasp, the space between each hand and the side of the heart they held, was a stone- a diamond on the left, an emerald on the right. He'd told her that his mother had explained the diamond and the emerald signified two souls coming together, becoming one in marriage.

But if-

She shook her head; no, she wouldn't allow her mind to go there. He was fine, she knew it, she could sense it. Tony sighed, and she turned to him. "Ziva, McGee's strong, he's tough, he's survived things like this before-"

She returned her head to the door, listening for any sound, letting Tony drone on and on. Yes, he was right, but he was also wrong. She'd been the only one to ever see the other side of her fiancé, the side he kept hidden at work. So while he was strong, she knew it was just a façade for the pain he hid underneath. She just didn't know what kind of pain, or what had caused it.

Finally, she heard the doors begin to open and pulled away; Abby's face popped into view, and as the Goth blabbered on, Ziva's gaze focused on the sweet sight of the floor behind the woman. "Abby!" The other woman stopped.

"What? Oh, right, sorry-" She quickly moved, and Ziva reached for the fireman, gratefully accepting his help as she climbed out of the elevator and over the debris. Once back on solid ground, her dark eyes quickly moved around the room, but no sign of him could be seen. "Are you looking for Timmy?" She turned back to Abby. Tony was being helped down, but Ziva paid him no mind.

"Where is he?" She asked, rushing to the woman and taking her face in her hands. "Abby, tell me!"

"He... they... they took him... to... to Bethesda..." But before she could finish, the Israeli woman shot out of the building so fast, it was like the hounds of Hell were after her. By the time she reached the pavement outside, the ambulance he'd been taken in was gone.

"Gibbs!" She rushed to him; but stopped herself from throwing her arms around him. "Where is he? Abby said they... they took him to... to Beth-" She stopped herself. The older man nodded.

"He's in surgery. Internal bleeding from being caught in the worst of the blast-"

"I need to be there for him-" Her boss nodded, taking her hand.

"I'll take you." She followed him to the car, heart in her throat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

_1985_

He woke up to someone stroking his hair. "_'ey_ baby boy." Kathleen McGee sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand, her other stroking through his hair. Tears were running down her cheeks, and she was shaking.

"_Mams_-" His voice was rough, his throat sore. A moment passed, before he tried to sit up. "Sarah-"

"Shh... _shh, me love. 'Tis_ fine, Sarah is." She turned to someone standing by the bed; and Timmy turned, finding his little sister, dressed in a similar hospital gown, a swath of bandages over her arm and hand. She had a scrape across her forehead, but otherwise seemed fine. A moment passed, before Kathleen scooped her daughter up and set her on the bed. The child crawled towards her brother, being careful of his side.

"What-" But Kathleen laid a finger on her son's lips, shaking her head.

"_Ye_ were _caugh'_ in a bomb _blas'_."

"Jackie_ an'_... and Ian-" But his mother shook her head.

"Oh, _sweet'eart_..." His green eyes welled with tears, and choked on a sob.

"_I'ma_ sorry, _Mams_, I _dinna_-"

"_Ye_ protected Sarah,_ 'tis wha' ye_ were _s'possed t'_ do,_ me_ _love_. _Exactly wha' ye_ were_ s'pposed t'_ do." She turned when a nurse entered.

"I see _'e 'tis_ awake." The woman gave the boy a big smile, and slowly, he smiled back. She gently reached up, tilting his head towards her, and her eyes ran along the stitches on his cheek. "_'tis bes'_ if _'e_ does_ no'_ talk in_ th' nex'_ few weeks. _Th' las'_ thing we _wan'_ is for_ 'im t' 'ave th'_ stitches open _an' 'ave t'_ close_ 'em_ again." Her gaze moved to Sarah, who lay beside her older brother, small arms around the boy's waist, her head resting on his shoulder. "Be careful, love._ Yer_ big _broth'r's 'ad_ a _lo' 'o_ damage done_ t' 'is_ body; _'tis goin' t'_ be a while_ b'fore 'e_ can run_ an'_ play_ wi' ye_."

Sarah nodded, snuggling close, being careful not to hurt her big brother. "When can I take _'im 'ome_?" The nurse sighed, turning to their mother.

"_No'_ for a couple weeks, Mrs. McGee. We need_ t' le' 'is_ body_ 'eal. 'specially bein'_ so close _t' th' _blast,_ 'twould_ be _bes'_ if we monitored _'im t'_ make sure there _'tis_ no _int'rnal_ damage." Kathleen nodded; after several minutes, the nurse left, and she turned back to her two children, plastering a small smile on her face. Timmy's green eyes studied her intently, and she sighed, reaching up and gently brushing a finger along the stitches on her son's cheek. He would live with that scar for the rest of his life, a constant reminder of the bomb blast he survived as a child. Voices from the hall brought her attention from her children, and after a moment, she got up to tell them to stop-

"You don't _und'rstand! Tha's_ my son-"

"John?" Both turned to her, surprised. Kathleen glanced at the nurse, mouthing that it was okay, that he was her husband, even as the man went to her, wrapping her in his arms.

"Kathleen, baby-" She wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders, before pulling away.

"_Wha'_ are _ye doin' 'ere? Ye're s'pposed t'_ be-"

"I know, but I got called _t'_ Admiral Jonas's office; he'd already heard _'bout_ the blast, said_ tha'_ he thought the kids had been hurt-" She reached up, taking his face in her hands. "Oh Katlee, no-"

"_Shh_. Sarah is fine. Broken arm_ an'_ a few scrapes."

"_An'_ Timmy?" He asked, swallowing. She sighed, gently brushing her thumb over the apple of her husband's cheek.

"Timmy _go' th' maj'rity o'_ the _blas'_, John. _'twas in surg'ry_ for four _'ours. 'twill 'ave t'_ be in_ 'ospital_ for a couple weeks, _an'_ he _canna_ talk, for _th'_ stitches in _'is_ cheek, _bu' 'e_ is _smilin' an'_..." She sighed, pushing the door open and leading her husband into the room. Timmy was smiling softly as Sarah told him about the playroom in the children's ward of the hospital they were in, and all the Disney movies that were lined up on the shelves near the TV in the corner of the playroom.

"... even _'ave Robin Hood an' Jungle Book! An' _we can-" John chuckled softly at his daughter's enthusiasm, and the children looked up. Sarah's eyes widened in shock. _"Da!"_ She struggled to her feet on the bed, reaching over her brother, and John went to them, taking his daughter into his arms so she didn't hurt her brother trying to get to him._ "Ye're 'ome!_ Why? _B'cause_ _o'_ us?"

"_Aye, me littl'_ princess. I heard all about the blast in America, and the Secretary _o'_ the Navy let me come_ 'ome t'_ be_ wi'_ you." Kathleen chuckled, knowing exactly how John had gotten home so quick- her older brother, Michael, was the American Secretary of the Navy, and he kept a close eye on things going on in Ireland where his sister and her family lived. Michael had initially been against Kathleen and John being together, but when he'd seen how happy they were-

He'd relented, and when John had joined the American Navy- because his mother, Penelope, refused to allow her son to join anything in regards to the Irish, thanks to the fighting there, and had insisted he spend some time in America, getting to know his wife's family- Michael had decided that obviously the Irish-born Naval recruit was doing right by his baby sister after all.

John turned to his son, taking a seat on the bed. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over his son's forehead. "Hey Timmy boy." The child reached out, taking his father's hand.

_"Da-"_

_"Shh. Mams tol'_ me _wha'_ happened. Now you_ jus'_ rest. Let those stitches heal." A moment passed, before the boy nodded and quickly signed,

_Are you home forever?_

John chuckled. The kids had been learning Irish Sign Language in school, and had kept it up over the summer- something that had resulted in endless days of silence at both home when they were out. After several seconds, he gently caressed his son's uninjured cheek. "Just for the next four weeks, Timmy boy. Admiral Jonas gave me enough leave to make sure _ye're_ okay _an'_ settled before I have to head back." He glanced at Kathleen, who stood near the door. "Now, _'ow 'bout_ I go down _t'_ the cafeteria and see if I can scrounge up a few milkshakes._ 'ow's_ that sound? Good?" Both children nodded, and John pressed a kiss to his daughter's head before doing the same to his son's.

Kathleen took Sarah into her arms, and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips before slipping out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

_2012_

Her finger trailed down his cheek; she remembered the stitches that had caused that scar, the explosion that had landed her son in the hospital for two weeks, and now, here he was, once more in the hospital, thanks to an explosion. Though the explosion now wasn't caused by a car bomb just because, it was caused by a terrorist wanting to get even with NCIS, and her son had been caught in the middle.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and she smiled softly, tears slipping down her cheeks. "_'ey_ baby boy." He groaned softly, shutting his eyes quickly before opening them again.

"_Mams_?" Kathleen nodded, never stopping her stroking. "Where's Sar-"

"_Righ' 'ere,_ Timmy." He turned, seeing his sister sitting on the other side of the bed. "You scared me."

"_I'ma_ sorry-"

"No, you don't understand, I need to see him! I'm with NCIS, and he's my partner! He's... he's _more than my partner_, he's my-" But before the person could say anything more, the door opened and a dark-haired young woman burst into the room, dark eyes frantically searching until she found who she was looking for. "Tim!" She rushed to him, but stopped upon seeing Kathleen and Sarah. "Oh, I..I'll come back..."

She turned to go, but Tim's voice stopped her. "Ziva, come 'ere."

"_Wai'... this_ is Ziva. _'tis_ the girl _ye're goin' t'_ marry, Timmy?" Kathleen asked, standing and going to the younger woman. The former Israeli nodded, glancing at the agent. But Sarah spoke up before her brother could.

"Ziva works_ wit'_ Timmy, _Mams_. They're _cowork'rs an'_... _an'_ they... they fell_ 'n_ love."

"Ziva_ 'elped wit'_ Sarah's case, _Mams_." Tim added, as Gibbs slipped into the room, the silent fly, taking in everything. Kathleen turned back to her son. Though it had been years since she'd been back in the States- since John's diagnosis, they returned every few months to spend time with Penny, who had left Ireland in the late eighties. They also spent time in D.C., visiting Sarah and- when he had time- Tim, and while Kathleen knew of Ziva, she'd never met the young woman. Over the last few years, it'd been exceedingly difficult for Tim to get together with the family...

"So_ ye're th'_ young woman_ me_ Timothy's _marryin'_." Ziva nodded, rolling her shoulders back and lifting her head. She'd only heard Tim and Sarah reference Kathleen, but now, to meet the American woman who'd brought the man she loved into the world- well, Ziva was never more intimidated than she was at that moment. She let her dark gaze move to the older woman, drinking her in in silence.

She had thick, chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes- the furthest thing from her sandy-haired, green-eyed children- and though she had been in Ireland the majority of her adult life, there was still the hint of the American she'd been born and raised as. She stood at barely five-foot-four, and had a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and was clearly soft spoken, yet, the woman was able to strike fear into the Israeli's heart.

A moment passed, before she nodded. "Ziva." She gently rested a hand to her chest, and Kathleen caught the glint from the ring she wore. The older woman nodded, before going to her son.

"_Ye ge'_ some _res', me_ love." She pressed a kiss to Tim's cheek and then glanced over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at the Israeli. "_Ziva.. an'_ I are gonna go_ ge'_ coffee_ an' 'ave_ a _littl'_ chat." Then, she moved away from the bed, taking the woman's arm.

"_Mams, don'_ hurt_ 'er_. Please." Kathleen turned back to her children as they left. She chuckled softly.

"_'twould nev'r_, love." Then, she pulled Ziva through the door and shut it behind them.

Once they were outside the room, Kathleen walked Ziva down to the cafeteria. As they left the cafeteria and headed back towards Tim's room, Kathleen stopped. "Why_ me_ son, Ziva?" The question caught the woman off guard and she choked. When she cleared her throat, she asked,

"What... what do you mean?" Kathleen raised an eyebrow, and leaned back against the wall.

"Ziva, are ye aware o' me Timothy's past?" The younger woman thought a moment, and then shook her head.

"He doesn't talk much..."

"_Dinna ye ev'r wond'r_ why?" The Israeli bit her lip. "_'tis b'cause wha' me childr'n wen'_ through, is too painful for them_ t'_ relive. _An'_ John..._ me_ husband _an'_ I... we tried _so hard t' _keep them from_ dwellin'_ on it._ An'_ this... this explosion... _'as brough' ev'rythin'_ back." Kathleen sighed. "_Me_ Timothy's damaged, Ziva. _V'ry_ damaged. Are _ye pr'pared_ for _tha'_?" Ziva swallowed.

"What... what kind of damage?" She bit her lip. "And... aren't you curious about-"

"I_ dinna need t' know 'bout ye,_ Ziva. Sarah's told me all_ 'bout ye_. She thinks.. _exceedin'ly 'ighly o' ye, an'_ all the team." Kathleen stepped closer. "No,_ wha'_ I need_ t'_ know, is _tha' ye_ won't leave _me_ son when..." But she stopped, as Sarah stepped out into the hall. Their conversation forgotten, Kathleen rushed towards her daughter. "Sarah, love_ wha'_ is it?" The girl was shaking, fat, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She quickly wiped the tears away, turning back to the door. A nurse had been called and rushed inside, she was currently trying to sedate Tim, but he fought against her, even as Gibbs held his hand and talked softly to him, trying to calm the younger agent down. "Sarah, talk_ t'_ me!"

"_'e... 'e_ keeps _askin'_ for... for Jackie _an'..._ an' Ian,_ Mams_. Wh.. _wha'_ do I do? _Wha' do I tell 'im_?" Kathleen gently took her daughter's face in her hands.

"Who are Jackie and Ian?" It was then that Kathleen turned to the other woman.

"This..." She swallowed. "This is why I was askin', Ziva. _This_ is why I need_ t'_ know if_ ye're pr'pared t'_ spend the_ res' o' yer_ life _wit'_ Tim." And then, without another word, she pushed Sarah towards the waiting area and rushed into the room, leaving Ziva in the hallway, stunned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

_Late 1985_

Kathleen poked her head into the living room; her son was curled up on the sofa, staring blankly at the TV. She sighed; it had been weeks since her son had been released from the hospital, since both children had recovered from their injuries. The winter holidays were fast approaching, and John and Kathleen had been debating about whether they should stay in Ireland, or go back to the States-

Since most of John's family was here- and Kathleen's parents were both dead; killed in a car crash a couple years ago- only her older brother Michael and his wife, Emily were in America, it made sense to stay in Ireland. Which, honestly, Kathleen was happy with. John would be on leave for the next several weeks, until the first week in January, which meant he'd get to spend time with the kids. And her. She returned to her baking, listening to Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye try to convince the audience they were Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen, with their feather fans.

A moment passed, before she stopped.

Something felt wrong, very wrong. She reached down, laying a hand over her womb; she and John had discovered she was pregnant a couple weeks before he returned to the States, not long after the bombing. Everything had been going fine, but now...

She bit her lip, choking on a cry. "_Mams_?" Her head snapped up; Timmy stood in the kitchen, concern in his green eyes. She swallowed, reaching out for him. The boy flew to her side, his gaze going from her face to her stomach and back. In his beautiful, brilliant mind, everything was adding up. He'd been just as excited about the baby as Sarah had been; proclaimed over and over that he was excited for a new sibling, that he wanted a little brother-

"Call_ Aintín_ Fiona, love. Tell _'er tha' Da_ needs _t' ge' 'ome_ now-" The boy rushed to do as told, and after a moment, Kathleen reached for the table, only to collapse, unaware of anything but the pain.

When she awoke later, she found herself in bed, John and the kids by her side. Timmy was helping Sarah bathe their mother's forehead in warm water, and after a moment, a familiar voice broke the silence. "Keep_ 'er_ down for _th' nex_' couple days, John." Kathleen pushed herself up, and he helped her sit back against the pillows of their bed.

"Grae, wh..._ wha'_ are _ye doin' 'ere_?" Grania O'Hara was John's older sister; the local midwife in Derry. She'd delivered both Timmy and Sarah, and had been excited when Kathleen learned she was pregnant again. With her sandy-colored hair and green eyes, she could pass for John's twin sister- if it weren't for the fact that she was two years older than him. Sighing, she slowly removed her latex gloves.

"_I'ma_ sorry, Kate,_ bu' ye... ye los'_ the baby." Her sister-in-law shook her head, tears springing to her eyes.

"_No... ye... ye canna_ be..."

She next felt Grae's soft hands pushing down on her shoulders. "Kate,_ ye need t'_ stay in bed. _Ye've suff'red_ a miscarriage. _Ye_ need _t'_ stay down,_ a' leas' for th' nex'_ couple days, if _no' th'_ whole weekend. Okay? I don't _wanna 'ear_ any talk_ o' ye bein' _up_ an' 'bout_. Okay?" Several minutes passed, before the other woman nodded, and Grae wrapped her arms around her, holding her close. "I know. I've been _th're_." Grae herself had suffered a miscarriage a few years back, so she knew the pain Kathleen was currently feeling. She knew the pain, the gut-wrenching pain of feeling your child die within you, to feel that tiny life be snuffed out without a thought, and she never wanted to feel that pain again.

After Grae left, John returned to the bedroom; Timmy and Sarah were curled up with their mother, and after a moment, he joined them, pulling his wife close. He pressed a kiss to her head, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"_I'ma_ so sorry, Katlee, love. So, so sorry." She nuzzled her nose against his, before turning back and pulling her children closer.

_"Da?"_ He lifted his head, meeting his son's gaze. "Why... why did Mams..." He blushed, embarrassed. "Why did she lose_ th'_ baby? _Dinna_ it _wan' t'... t'_ be in our family?" Even through her tears, Kathleen was able to chuckle softly as she reached out, pulling her son close.

"_O'_ course it did, love, _bu'_..." She licked her lips, sniffling. "_Bu' jus' no' righ'_ now. Now... _'tisn't th' righ' _time for a baby."

"Oh." The boy seemed to think for several minutes, before, "When will it be _th' righ'_ time?"

"You really _wan' anoth'r siblin'_ don't you, Timmy?" John asked, and the boy nodded. Kathleen swallowed.

"I don't know, love. _'tis no'_ _me_ decision." She wrapped her children in her arms, pressing kisses to each head of sandy hair, letting their small presences lull her to sleep, when she sat up, a scream ripping through her head.

"Katlee?" John sat up, but when he reached for her, she clambered over him, despite the shakiness of her legs. "Kathleen! Where are you goin'?" John glanced at Timmy and Sarah, before following. _"Stay here, both of you!"_ But like most children, they got up and followed, suddenly worried. _Aintín_ Grae had told their mother to stay in bed, yet that was the last thing she'd done-

As they reached the stairs, they both heard a screech, and slammed into each other in the doorway leading out to the street. Kathleen stood on the sidewalk, hands covering her mouth. Others had come out at the commotion, and all were gathered around something. Slowly, Timmy slipped out of the doorway, going to his mother. He reached up, tugging on her shirt._ "Mams-"_

But she ignored him; it was John's cry that soon filled the air. _"No! No, Grania!"_ Kathleen reached for her husband, struggling to hold him back at the police showed up, and started to assess the scene. _"No, you don't understand, that's my sister!"_

"John... John, look_ a' me, love! Look a' me!"_ She stepped in front of him, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to make eye contact. "She's gone." As John crumpled, Kathleen joining him, holding him close as he broke down, Timmy realized what had caused such a reaction from his father.

His aunt's car, the small white sedan that he and Sarah often made called 'base' when they played Tag with their cousins at family dinners, was gone, leaving behind a mangled, burning heap of twisted metal. And slumped in the driver's seat, burned so badly she was almost recognizable, was Grae.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to puppypants for reviewing 3 and 5; Reader for reviewing 2, 3, 4, and 5. **

_Bethesda Hospital, _

_2012_

"What's going on? I... I don't understand, Sarah, what-"

But when she got no answer from the younger woman, Ziva slipped into the room, suddenly unprepared for what greeted her. Tim remained in the bed, but he was fighting against both the nurse and Gibbs. And Kathleen...

Kathleen sat on the bed, struggling to catch her son's hands and hold them. Not once did she lose her temper or raise her voice; she talked to Tim in the voice of a mother, a well-practiced, soft tone, the kind of tone a mother often used to calm her kids before getting a shot, or going into surgery. As Ziva slowly stepped closer, she caught some of Kathleen's gentle words, but stayed just out of the way of the nurse, so as not to crowd.

"_Hush, love_. Timothy... Timothy, look_ a'_ me... Ti... _Timothy, love, stop_..." The sight reminded Ziva of _The Secret Garden_, when Colin fought against the doctors and servants in one of his many tantrums; and while this wasn't a tantrum, it seemed to be just as bad as one. "Please, _me love... ye'll_ _only make yerself worse_..."

"..._ jus' tell me! Where are they? Ian an' Jackie, they... they always... 'tis no' like them..."_ Ziva caught her breath; she'd never heard such a thick Irish lilt in Tim's voice before. Finally, Kathleen managed to catch her son's hands, and gently she pulled him close, holding him to her, even though he fought against her. As she gently ran her fingers through his hair, she whispered,

"They're gone, love. _Rem'mb'r?_ Back in_ 'eighty-five, tha' blas'_... the one_ tha'_ started all_ o'_ this..." He fought against her, but she held tighter, rocking gently back and forth, pressing kisses to his hair. "I know _ye_ don't _wanna rem'mb'r... an' Da an'_ I... we tried so _har' t'... t'_ keep_ ye an'_ Sarah from_ rem'mb'rin'... t'_ keep _ye_ safe..." She sniffled softly, pressing another kiss to her son's head. "If only_ ye'd_ stayed in _I'eland_, both_ o' ye_... like _Da an'_ I _wan'ed_..." She lifted her head, meeting Ziva's gaze before turning back to her son. "_Ye don'_ belong_ 'ere, neith'r o' ye_ do..." She trailed off, pressing another kiss to her son's head. When the nurse had finally managed to give him the sedative, she slipped out of the room, silent. Kathleen turned to the Team Leader. "_Thank ye_, Agent Gibbs. _Bu'_ I can take it from_ 'ere_."

Gibbs nodded, slipping out of the room, but not without going to Ziva. "You watch her like a hawk, Ziva." The Israeli nodded, before slowly creeping towards the bed. She knew right away that Gibbs didn't trust Kathleen, no matter her blood connection to Tim and Sarah. And, if truth be told, neither did Ziva. She may have been their mother, but Ziva knew first hand that even blood didn't guarantee loyalty.

"Who... who are Ian and... and Jackie?" Kathleen looked up, momentarily surprised to see Ziva there, but after a moment, she sighed, never stopping her stroking of her son's hair.

"_'is bes'_ friends. They'd known each _oth'r_ since birth. All born three week _apar'." _She chuckled softly, remembering the two boys her son spent all his time with as a child. Jackie, with his flaming red hair and green eyes, the adventurer, always planning exciting trips for them to go on, even if it was just going into the kitchen for milk and cookies, they would pretend to wade through an alligator-infested swamp to get there, just like_ Indiana Jones_ often did. And Ian, the dark-haired, dark-eyed one of the trio, the quieter one, the bookworm, who dreamed of writing award-winning screenplays and going to the Academy Awards in America, who did Irish dance with his sister and who was always acting out scenes from books and movies.

"_'twas_ always _th'_ three_ o'_ them _t'geth'r_- _th'_ _Three Musketeers_. All in_ th'_ same grade in _prim'ry_, _go'_ into trouble more times_ tha'_ I could count... they made plans for _ev'rything_." She glanced down at her son, gently brushing her fingers through his hair. She sighed, tightening her hold on Tim, becoming lost in thought. It had been years since she'd held her son, since she'd had to comfort him, and she'd been grateful that he hadn't needed her; except now, all the progress he'd made, all the years of finally getting past what he'd lived through, what he'd grown up around, it was all gone, blown to pieces in that explosion at NCIS Headquarters. Suddenly, he was that scared little boy again, with visions of death and destruction clouding his mind, and she had no idea how to help him.

Ziva watched, silent, as Kathleen's fingers moved slowly through the beautiful sandy hair she loved so much. There were nights when she couldn't sleep unless she tangled her fingers in that hair, unless she felt the soft, silky strands between her fingers, and his body against hers... it brought a comfort she hadn't felt for a long time, especially after Somalia.

Kathleen's dark eyes clouded over momentarily. "Both were killed in a bomb _blas'_ when they were six. Timmy _an'_ Sarah were_ th'_ only two _o' th'_ four_ child'en t' su'vive_." Gently, she shifted until her son lay back on the bed, and after a moment, she pressed a kiss to his head before getting up. As she left the room, Ziva glanced back at Tim, and then, despite her worry that Kathleen would come back in and stop her, she went to the bed, leaning close and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, Tim."

When she slipped out of the room, Kathleen was waiting for her. "_D' ye_ see now, why I asked if _ye_ were _pr'pared t'_ spend_ th' res' o' yer_ life_ wit' me_ son?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_April, 1986_

The new year brought more of the same in the North- bombings, murders, disappearances. It was this last that nearly destroyed Kathleen and John's marriage.

Kathleen lay her head back, the soft Jazz wafting from the record player; if there was one thing she missed about America, it was the Jazz scene- regular trips up to Seattle and Portland with her friends, or nights in Jazz lounges in San Francisco over the summer. Not that she didn't love her life in Ireland or her family, but there were times when she missed America.

Soft giggling caused her to lift her head, and she looked up to see Sarah and Timmy sprawled out on the floor, a coloring book between them. "No, Sarah,_ 'e's no'_ a lion, _'e's_ a_ leopard_! They rule_ jungles_, _no'_ safaris!"

"Timmy, _ye're colorin' 'im_ wrong!" Her brother glared at her, sticking out his tongue. The little girl loved Lisa Frank, and her favorite things were the coloring books. And Timmy, who loved his sister dearly, would help her color because he loved her. He tolerated it only because of Sarah, when he'd rather be doing anything but coloring dancing bunnies and painter bears.

"Sarah,_ yer broth'r_ can color _'em_ any way _'e_ wants." Sarah turned to her mother, sighing, before returning to her own page. She listened as Timmy began to weave a story about the leopard, about the adventures the cat would go on and the people he would meet; the story kept his sister enthralled, leaving some much desired peace for their mother. Since John had returned to America, she'd been doing her best to stay strong for the kids, but it was tough. Just as she was dozing off to the raspy alto of Lady Day, a knock on the door startled her awake.

Minutes passed, as Kathleen struggled to her feet, still partially asleep, eventually reaching the doorway. The kids watched as she pulled it open; Margaret, the youngest of the four McGee siblings, stood at the door, eyes wild and hair loose about her shoulders. "Ah... Molly, wh... _wha's_ wrong?" But the teenager threw her arms around her sister-in-law, choking on a sob.

At seventeen, Margaret McGee- known as Molly to her family- was the only one of the McGee children still in secondary school; she had two more months before she completed her Senior Cycle and received her Leaving Certificate, the equivalent to an American high school diploma. The teenager looked exactly like her siblings, with the same sandy hair-color and bright green eyes, though she wore her hair in long, tight, semi-contained curls, similar to Rebecca Schaeffer's Patti Russell on _My Sister Sam_; Molly was more the free-spirit of the family than her older siblings.

"_Wh're's_ Johnny, Kathleen?" The girl choked out, as her sister-in-law stumbled back into the living room. Though they lived in an apartment, it was one of the rare two-story ones in Derry- in part of the new complex being built around the crumbling older buildings that were in the process of being taken down to make way for 'townhomes' as they were called- something unheard of in their almost isolated section of Derry. She pulled away, meeting her gaze.

"Ah... J... John's back in America. Why?" Slowly, Molly pulled away, meeting her sister-in-law's eyes.

"She... she's gone... she's gone..."

"Who? Mol-" After a moment, she reached up, taking the younger girl's face in her hands. "Molly,_ talk t'_ me. Who's gone?" Several minutes passed, before the girl was able to get a handle on her emotions. As Kathleen led her into the kitchen and pushed her into a chair at the table, she choked out, _"I don't know where they took 'er, bu'_..."

"Molly, calm down, _an'_ tell me _'ho_ they took." Kathleen replied, quickly fixing a cup of tea and pushing the warm mug into her sister-in-law's hands. The teen nodded, taking deep breath.

"F... Fiona... they... _they took Fiona_..." She burst into tears, and Kathleen felt her heart drop. Since Grae's death the year before, the three remaining McGee siblings had been keeping close tabs on each other, and it wasn't uncommon for Fiona to not call and let her parents- or at least her siblings- know what she was doing, especially nowadays, and out of all of them, Fiona was perhaps the most responsible. As Molly continued to sob, Kathleen caught sight of her children watching from the living room. She would have to explain what Molly meant soon enough, but not right now. Instead, she grabbed her sister-in-law's shoulders, tightening her hold.

"Molly. _Molly, talk t' me. Molly, look a' me!"_ Slowly, the girl did as told, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I need_ ye t' tell me wha' 'appened_. Okay? _D' ye_ know where Fiona was when_ ye_ talked_ t' 'er las'?_ Molly,_ answe'_ _me_!"

"She... she'd..._ jus'_ stepped off _th'_ bus, _an'... an'_..." She shrugged her shoulders, curls bouncing. "She's gone, Kathleen... _wha' d'_ we tell _Ma_?" Kathleen swallowed; that would be the hardest- tell Penny that her middle daughter, her responsible whirlwind of a daughter was gone, vanished off the face of the earth, without leaving behind any trace as to he whereabouts or why. They could file a police report- and they would- but there was no guarantee anything would get done. In most cases like this, the person was never found, and it looked like Fiona was just the latest in a long line of people in Northern Ireland who vanished without a trace, never to be found.

"_'ave ye_... _told Ma_, Molly?" The girl shook her head. She sighed.

"_Righ'._ Okay. Um..._ 'ow 'bout ye_ go _int' th' livin'_ room _wit'_ Timmy_ an'_ Sarah. _Jus'... jus'_ stay there. I... I'll call _Ma_." The teen nodded, and after several minutes, got up. As she left the kitchen, Kathleen watched her children dash back into the living room, trying desperately to pretend they hadn't been listening. As she picked up the phone and checked on Molly, subconsciously dialing the number she knew by heart, she began to wonder how she'd ended up turning into the dutiful older daughter, and why the responsibility to break bad news always fell to her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_Bethesda, 2012_

Gibbs stood in the doorway, watching as Ziva slowly, cautiously, made her way towards the bed. Four days had passed since the explosion at NCIS, and Ziva had rarely left Tim's side, going home only to shower and change, and always coming back before Gibbs awoke from his place in the chair in the far corner of the waiting area. Tim's injuries were healing- the internal damage done on that side was slow in the healing process, but nothing so bad that he wouldn't be up and about in a couple weeks, the doctors explained. But for now, he needed to take it easy; and against Jimmy's judgment- he was filling in while Ducky was in hospital, recovering from his heart attack- the doctors were discharging the younger agent, with the strict instructions to take it easy and stay down, of which Ziva was fully prepared to make her fiancé listen.

But for now, Gibbs watched as the young Israeli-born agent slowly perched on the edge of Tim's bed, taking his hand. He turned his head from the window, his green gaze landing on her, and he smiled, squeezing her hand quickly before reaching up and cradling her cheek. He chuckled softly as Tim leaned forward, careful of his injured side, and captured Ziva's lips in his. One small, soft hand reached up, resting against his wrist, holding his hand to her cheek as she returned the deepening kiss with vigor.

"I _don' und'rstand_." He turned, to see Kathleen at his side, two cups of coffee in her hands. She held one out to him, and he narrowed his eyes. "Take it, _Agen'_ Gibbs. _'tis no'_ a bribe." After a moment, he reached out, taking the one in her right hand, leaving the one she held out for him, for her. He nodded to her, silent, before taking a sip as he turned his gaze back to his agents.

The pair seemed to relax, the tension leaving them both as they slowly broke the kiss, and moments passed, before Ziva scooted closer, reaching up to brush a strand of hair off his forehead. She spoke softly, and Tim chuckled, catching her brushing fingers and bringing her palm to his mouth. He pressed a firm kiss to her skin, before taking her chin and tugging her closer, bringing her in for another kiss. She reached up, gently holding his face in her hands, fingers tangling softly in his hair, as he slid his other hand along her waist and tugged her closer, until they were hip to hip. "What don't you understand, Mrs. McGee? They're young and they're in love. Nothing complicated about that."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, _Agen'_ Gibbs, I _wish_ I _coul'_ believe _ye. Bu' 'tis no' tha'_ simple._ 'tis nev'r tha'_ simple." Then, she turned, heading for the waiting area. Casting one last glance at his agents, he followed, grabbing her arm when he caught up to her.

"Walk with me." They left the hospital, heading to the park across the street. As they came to a small stone bench beneath a cherry tree, he sat, waiting until she'd perched by his side to continue. "Why don't you approve of Ziva?" Kathleen started, dark eyes wide. "She's a smart, dedicated agent, with a good head on her shoulders; sure a little stubborn at times, and she tends to keep her feelings bottled up, but that's more from her Mossad training than anything. She's dedicated to her job, fiercely loyal to those she cares about, and she loves McGee more than life itself. So before you go spouting that she's not right for your son, you watch them together, and see the good she does for Tim, and the good he does for her."

A moment passed, before Kathleen turned away, shaking her head, bewildered. "Wow... been a_ lon'_ time since I was... told off like _tha'. Las'_ time _tha' 'appened, 'twas_ _b'cause me sist'r an'_ I _wen' joyridin'_ through San Fran in _me Da's_ mustang when I was sixteen." It was Gibbs's turn to look bewildered. Had he really heard her correctly? Did she say-

"San Fancisco? You're American?" Kathleen turned back to him, nodding.

"Ye_s_." She whispered, being careful to enunciate the '_s_' at the end of the word. She met his gaze, studying him as she spoke; her voice soft, gentle, remembering a time long passed, when she was a child, long before she'd met John McGee and moved to Ireland. "Born in Alameda, raised in San Francisco. Typical _Califo'nia gir'_." She said, her Irish lilt creeping into her carefully spoken words. "Minus _th' dar' 'air an'_ eyes." She chuckled softly, sipping her coffee.

"So how did you- studied abroad." She nodded, not at all surprised the older man had caught on so quick.

"_Me firs'_ year _a'_ Dublin _Univ'rsity. 'twas... studyin'_ psychology... John..." She chuckled, remembering that first meeting in her psychology class. "_'e sa' righ'_ _behind_ me. I _hated_ him. _Though' 'e wa' th'_ most... _arrogant_, _egotistical_, _annoyin'_,_ juvenile_..." She stopped, and GIbbs chuckled. She reminded him of Kate, and how she used to get flustered about Tony-

A moment passed, before the California-born Navy wife turned back to him. She licked her lips. "When _'e_ asked _me ou'_, I told_ 'im_ no. _Wan'ed nothin' t' do wit'_ him... _bu'_ he _kep' askin' an' askin' an'_... finally I said yes... _jus' t' ge' 'im t' stop askin'_." Gibbs chuckled. _"An'... an' 'e_ turned _ou' t'_ be... _th'_ complete _opposite o'_ who I _though' 'e_ was..." She shrugged. "We _go'_ married_ aft'r_ college, moved up North..." She sighed. "Timmy _'twas... 'twas_ born in _Septemb'r_, seventy-nine, Sarah followed in April, _eig'ty_-one. John_ an'_ I... we lived in Derry,_ th' 'eart o' th'_ Troubles."

Gibbs met her gaze, sighing. Suddenly, Tim's reaction made sense. "So the other day, after the explosion-" Kathleen nodded.

"_'e an'_ Sarah..." She bit her lip, gathering her thoughts. "They _su'vived_ an explosion when they were children... Tim_ los' 'is_ two _bes'_ friends in it. _'e nev'r_ fully recovered. Both my children," She turned to him, choosing her words carefully. "'_ave nev'r_ dealt_ wit'_ their childhoods. John_ an'_ I... we _nev'r... nev'r_ allowed them to..."

"So your overprotectiveness is because-" She nodded, running her finger along the lid of her cup.

_"An'_ when I finally _me'_ Ziva..." Kathleen stopped, thinking of the young woman who so quietly, calmly, wore her engagement ring on her finger, who sat by her son's side and talked with him; the woman who'd been so frantic to see him the day of the explosion...

No, she had no problem with Ziva; if anything, Kathleen had a problem with Tim.

"_'tis no' tha'_ I... _disapprove_ _o'_ Ziva,_ Agen'_ Gibbs, I don't." She met his gaze. "I do _no'_ think she is _righ'_ for Timothy_, b'cause o' his pas', no'_ hers. _Me_ son is fragile, Gibbs. Both _me childr'n_ are. _An'... th' las'_ time Timmy_ 'ad_ a break like this..._ 'e_ was fifteen, _an' th'_ girl _'e_ was_ datin'_... she was killed... shot in_ fron' o' 'im... 'e nev'r... 'twas nev'r th'_ same... _'e's_ blocked _ev'rythin' ou'_..." She took a deep breath. "Ziva does_ no'_ know_ wha'_ she's agreed_ t'_. She doesn't..." She sighed, closing her eyes briefly and rubbing her forehead. "She is _no' pr'pared_ for_ th'_ trouble Timothy is_ goin' t'_ be _relivin_'... this explosion..._ 'twas jus' th' star', an'..._ I _don'_ think she's strong _enoug'_-"

But Gibbs reached out, taking her hand. He caught her gaze, making sure he had her attention before he spoke. "Ziva's stronger than she looks, Mrs. McGee. If anyone can handle Tim, it's Ziva."


	9. Chapter 9

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_July, 1986_

Penny took Fiona's disappearance hard. Very hard.

"_D' ye 'ave t'_ go, _Móraí_?" Slowly, the older woman knelt down, meeting her granddaughter's eyes. They stood in the Dublin Airport, bidding Penny and her husband goodbye; the pair were catching a flight to America, most likely never to return to Ireland.

"_Wha' 'ave_ I told _ye_?" Sarah swallowed, softly whispering,

"Penny." She smiled gently, pulling her granddaughter into her arms.

"Oh,_ sweethear'_. I'm _goin' t'_ miss _ye_ so much. Both _o' ye_." She pressed a kiss to Sarah's head, before holding an arm out for her grandson.

After nearly three months with no word on Fiona, Penny had decided that it was most likely best to move to America- she'd remarried fifteen years after her first husband's death in the McGurk's Bar bombing; a wonderful man named James Langston, who was just as free-spirited as she was, and who was good to her children and grandchildren. James was a well-known American journalist who'd been covering the problems in Ireland, and who had been called back to New York by his publisher; after their small, intimate wedding in March, the pair had talked about seeing the world, but family issues had forced them to stay, until now. They would settle in America, and then, in a couple months, go hiking in the Alps, like they'd talked about.

Slowly, Timmy went to his grandmother, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder. "_Don' go, Penny..."_ She tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing a kiss to his head.

"Oh, love,_ shh_... we'll see each _othe' a' Chris'mas_, I promise. _An'_ I expect all _o' ye t'_ come_ t'_ America_ an'_ stay a while. Okay?" The boy nodded as Penny pulled away to meet his gaze. She brushed his tears away, pressing a kiss to his head before getting up. Once Penny and James's flight had taken off, the family left the airport, making the long drive back up to Derry. After a late dinner, and a couple bedtime stories, Kathleen and John tucked the kids into bed before slipping into their own.

She sighed, switching off the light on her nightstand and settling down among the blankets. Several minutes passed, before she felt John's arms slide around her, pulling her close. On leave for the next four weeks, John was intending on making the most of his time with his family, making sure he spent time with both his kids and his wife. And after hearing about Fiona's disappearance, both he and Kathleen needed this, for their family to be whole, even if only for a little while.

"Sarah's _go'en_ bigger since I saw_ 'er las'_." She chuckled, realizing what he was doing, and appreciating it.

"_Tha's wha' 'appens_, John. They grow up." He sighed, burying his face in her hair.

"_'ow 'as_ Timmy been?" She was silent, reaching down and taking one of his hands in hers.

"_'e_ still_ 'as nigh'mares, bu'_..." She shifted, turning to face him. "_bu' oth'r_ than_ tha'_, he's fine." He studied her, seeing the worry that filled her dark eyes.

"_'ey, don'_ do _tha'_." Gently he reached up, brushing away the tears that slid down her cheeks. "We're okay, Katlee. We're all okay._ Th'_ kids are safe, we're_ t'geth'r_, we're a_ fam'ly_ again. There's no need for_ tha'_-" But all she did was curl into his chest, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. "Oh Kathleen, love. I'm sorry..." He sighed, stroking her back. "_'tis_ my fault. I need_ t'_ be_ 'ere_-" She looked up, hiccupping on her tears.

_"No! Do' ye dare_ think_ o' quittin'_, John McGee! _Ye_ love_ yer_ job-"

"_Bu'_ I love _me fam'ly_ _more_, Kath-"

"_An' 'ow_ else would we_ su'vive_ if_ no'_ for _yer_ paycheck? I mean, I can go _bac' t'_ work, _bu'_-"

He shook his head, sighing. This was the same argument they'd had for the last several months, ever since Fiona disappeared- John would suggest he leave the Navy and come home, and Kathleen, in turn, would threaten, remind him of how important his job was- not just because he supported his family, but also because of all the _good_ he was doing in the Navy. She'd then suggest trying to put her psychology degree to good use, even though she'd put any thought of her own practice aside when Timmy and Sarah were born. And if she had to be honest, she was happier being home with her children, being a housewife; something she had scoffed at and swore she'd never be when she was younger.

But priorities change; she was proof of it.

Gently, she lay her hands on his chest, taking a deep breath. "_Ye love th'_ Navy, John. I _canna_ ask_ ye t'_ give _i'_ up."

"_Bu'_ I love my _fam'ly more_, Katlee._ An'_ I couldn't ask_ ye t'_ go back _an'... an'_ try_ t'_ build _yer_ practice from_ scratc'... no' aft'r_ all these years, _no'_ when _ye_ love_ bein' 'ome, bein' wit' th'_ kids-" She took a deep breath, and then sat up, pushing the blankets aside. Without a word, she slipped out of the room, heading downstairs. John sighed, and after several minutes, followed her.

She was sitting on the sofa, twisting her engagement ring back and forth on her finger. The Claddagh ring with its two stones- a diamond and an emerald- had resided in the McGee family for generations. John's great-grandfather, Michael, had given it to his bride, an English beauty named Elizabeth, whom he'd met in Scotland, but married in London before returning to Ireland. And his grandfather, Timothy- for whom his son had been named- had given it to his wife, Rebecca, a beautiful Jewish refugee who'd fled to Ireland from Austria before the outbreak of the first World War. His father, Aiden, had given it to Penny, and he in turn had, had given the ring to Kathleen when they married, just as Timmy would give it to his bride some day.

He intended for the ring to stay in the family, given to the firstborn son of every generation. Only John didn't know the tradition would somehow get mixed up, and he would only learn, years later when he met his son's bride-to-be, just how convoluted the story of which side of the family- the men or the women- originally owned the ring would be.

But now, he watched his wife play with it, twisting and turning the ring on her finger, watching the stones glitter like two eyes in the darkness. "Katlee." She didn't look up, though she stopped her twisting, only briefly. After a moment, he took a seat beside her. "I'm sorry if I_ upse' ye_-"

"_Ye_ didn't, John." She whispered, not meeting his gaze.

"Then _wha'_ is it? Huh?_ Wha's_ wrong? _Ye know ye_ can tell me-" He reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away. "Katlee, love, talk_ t'_ me, please."

"I..." She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. "I'm worried, John._ 'ow_ is all this _goin' t'_ affect Timmy _an'_ Sarah?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_Silver Spring, _

_2012_

She awoke, slowly lifting her head. Tim was still sound asleep, and after a moment, she gently eased herself off him, being careful of his injuries, and studied him. He slept peacefully, the pain meds the doctors had given him working their magic. On paid sabbatical for the next six weeks- Vance had seen to it that all those injured in the explosion were on leave until they got better- Tim would most likely have nothing to do but read or watch movies, maybe write, if he could get up the energy. Ziva sighed; Gibbs had stopped by the night before to check on his younger agents, and had warned Ziva that if anything happened to Tim, it'd be her head on a silver platter. She, of course, had chuckled at the Papa Bear in the older man, and promised that if anything happened, Gibbs would be the first to know. But right now, everything was calm, and so she pressed a kiss to his cheek and climbed out of bed; hopping into the shower after deciding that her usual morning run- of which Tim often joined her- could wait until he was feeling better.

Once she was dressed in clean clothes, she slipped downstairs and into the kitchen, only to find Sarah anxiously sitting at the kitchen table. "I... I_ le'_ myself in... a few minutes ago." She swallowed, nervous. Ziva nodded, used to Sarah's impromptu visits. Contrary to popular belief, she and the college student got along very well, and were quickly becoming fast friends.

"That's fine. Coffee?" She asked, making her way towards the coffeemaker, when she stopped, turning back. Sarah had set a cup on the table across from her.

"I picked_ i'_ up _b'fore_ I came." The girl replied, and Ziva nodded. Sarah was jumpy, and it wasn't from the caffeine. Something had her nervous, frightened even.

"_Toda_." She whispered, taking a seat across from her soon-to-be sister-in-law. They sat in silence for several minutes, before Ziva asked,

"Sarah, what's wrong?"

The girl's head snapped up. "Why would _som'thin'_ be wrong?" Ziva raised an eyebrow.

"Because you won't-" She scooted closer, reaching beneath the table and laying a hand on the girl's leg. It instantly stopped shaking. "Because you won't stop moving." She studied the younger woman, noticing the fear flash through the girl's green eyes. "Sarah, you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" The girl nodded. "So what's going on? Are you hurt? Is there someone after you?" The girl shook her head. "Then what is it? What's got you so... squeamish?"

"Skittish," came the automatically corrected reply. Several seconds passed, before Sarah returned her gaze to Ziva; she hadn't looked at her, had looked anywhere but at the former Israeli, a trait not subject to the soon-to-be college graduate. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "It... it_ 'appened_ again_ las'_ night."

Ziva furrowed her brow. "What? Sarah, what happened?"

"The..._ th' nigh'mares_." She whispered. A moment passed, as Ziva cocked her head, confused. She didn't know Sarah suffered from nightmares.

"What nightmares? Sarah, what nightmares?" But the girl bit her lip, shaking her head.

"Mm... hmm..."

"Sarah, talk to me." But as Ziva reached out to take the girl's hand, she shot out of her chair, knocking it over. "Sarah!" Ziva watched as the girl clambered onto the sofa, curling into the furthest arm, wrapping her knees around herself. She shook her head.

"No... if I talk_ 'bout _it, it comes true..." Slowly, Ziva got up. She took small, careful steps towards the girl, her Mossad training kicking in. The last thing she wanted to do was scare the girl more than she already was.

"What comes true? Sarah, talk to me. You know me, you trust me, _right_?" A tiny nod. "What comes true? What are you talking about?" She perched on the edge of the sofa, beside the girl, but didn't touch her.

"_Mams_ is_ pickin' Da_ up _a' th' airpor'_... they'll be _ov'r_ soon_ t'... t'_ see Timmy... _'e_ doesn't_ r'mem'b'r, bu'_ I do." She pressed a finger to her lips. _"Shh."_ Softly, Ziva reached up, caressing the girl's cheek.

"Sarah, you can tell me. I'll listen, remember? I won't hurt you. I love you, like I love your brother. We're gonna be family soon, remember?" She held up her hand, showing the girl the ring on her finger. The sparkling stones seemed to calm the girl down, and she momentarily stopped shaking.

"_Tha's... Mams's_ ring. Wh... _wha'_ are _ye doin' wit'_ it?" Confusion clouded the girl's green eyes, and Ziva was reminded of the day in the hospital, and Tim's reaction.

"Timmy gave it to me." She replied, using his childhood nickname, hoping it would keep the girl calm. "We're going to get married, and you agreed to be a bridesmaid, _remember_?" She sighed. "Sarah, look at me." When the girl met her eyes, Ziva saw a confusion dotting the green orbs. Clearly it was Sarah having the meltdown, not Tim, as he'd been calm and relaxed all night, and for the past couple of nights. Then again, he was also hopped up on painkillers, so...

The door opened, and Ziva turned; she'd given Kathleen an extra key before Tim left Bethesda. She wanted her future mother-in-law's approval, even if she didn't want to admit it. Kathleen was such an important part of Tim and Sarah's lives, and she wanted the older woman to be just as an important part in hers. Not that her pride would allow her to say that to the woman. "Ziva?" As soon as Sarah saw who it was, she sprang from her place on the sofa, rushing towards her mother.

_"Mams!"_ Kathleen rocked back on her feet, surprised by the force with which her daughter hit her. As Sarah blathered on and on about nightmares, Kathleen met Ziva's eye; the Israeli shrugged, confused.

"_Wha's goin'_ on? I heard shouting-" She turned, to see her fiancé step into the living room, yawning. Plastering on a big smile, Ziva got up, going to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, being careful of his injuries, and leaned up, kissing him quickly.

"Hey baby, how did you sleep? You feeling better?" Tim glanced at her before turning to his mother, whom Sarah still clung to.

"Um... yes..." He bit his lip.

"Tim? Baby, what is it?" Ziva searched his gaze, but he refused to meet her eyes. After a moment, he asked,

"I... _I'ma_ sorry, _bu'.. 'ho_ are _ye_?" She started, pulling away slightly.

"Ah... I... Ziva. Your fiancée, remember?" Tim glanced at his mother before turning back to her.

"No. I'm_ no'_ engaged. I _'ave_ a_ girlfr'end_." Ziva nodded, deciding to play along, even as she felt fear crawl up her back. She reached up, gently smoothing the collar of his shirt.

"Okay. Well... can you tell me her name?" He thought a moment, biting his lip.

"_Aye_... Rowan. Rowan Gallagher."


	11. Chapter 11

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_1987_

Soft giggling filled the lower half of the apartment, and after a moment, she poked her head into the living room._ "Ro, stop!"_ The girl said something softly in Gaelic, and Kathleen chuckled to herself. She had spent those four years at University, studying Psychology and Sociolinguistics- the study of accents and languages- and in that time, had studied not only Gaelic, but Ulster Scots, Irish, and a plethora of other languages used in and around the British Isles. Over time, she'd developed her own Irish lilt- from observing, listening and speaking with others. And since her future in-laws all spoke various forms of Irish- from Ulster to Gaelic and even Munster- Kathleen had picked up the languages fast, and by the time she and John had gotten married, she'd acquired a fairly soft Irish lilt, and could turn it on and off seemingly at will.

Unless she was stressed; everything went out the window when she was stressed, from the way she spoke to her ability to form coherent sentences, and she usually just ended up either bursting into tears or waving her hands around in anger. If she did speak, her accent was thick and unintelligible, and it took a long while for her to calm down.

Another soft giggle reached her ears, and she stopped, glancing over her shoulder. Timmy rushed into the room, all happy smiles and bright eyes, going to the counter. He pushed a chair up against it, and climbed onto it, but she stopped him, wiping her hands quickly on a dishtowel and pulling the jar towards her son. Without a word, she opened it, pulling out a couple pieces of yellowman and holding them out for the boy. "Thank ye, Mams." He leaned up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before hopping off the chair and returning to the living room.

"No more, Timmy._ Tha's_ enough for _t'day_."

As the children returned to their playing, Sarah came downstairs, holding tight to her favorite doll- a beautiful porcelain doll with long, thick dark corkscrew curls and bright green eyes, dressed in a traditional Irish dancer costume, complete with little soft dance shoes on her feet. Sarah called her Emily, and always brought her downstairs, even though Kathleen often told her that Emily wasn't a toy, and could break. The girl was careful, always keeping a close eye on her doll; rarely letting go.

The child set Emily gently on the table, and then went to the chair Timmy had left by the counter, climbing onto it and reaching for the jar._ "Sarah-"_

"_Bu'_ Timmy_ an'_ Rowan-" She sighed, reaching out and taking a piece out of the jar. The girl smiled, taking it and breaking a tiny piece off before climbing down.

_"Wha'_ are_ ye doin'_, Sarah?" The girl turned, meeting her mother's eyes.

"Emily likes_ yell'man_ too,_ Mams_." Kathleen chuckled, going to her child and gently walking her into the living room.

"Timmy, love, _pu'_ a movie in-" But the kids already had; Timmy and Rowan sat on the sofa, enthralled by the adventures of _The Great Mouse Detective_. Once she was sure all the kids were settled, she returned to the kitchen and her soda bread. When Rowan had first come over, Timmy had refused to have anything to do with her- in fact, he'd come downstairs, taken one look at her, snapped "No!" and rushed back upstairs, slamming his bedroom door. But over the last several hours, the two had gotten to be good friends.

Rowan Gallagher was the McGee's next door neighbor- she lived in the townhome to the left of them, and was in Timmy's grade at primary, though she was in the all-girls class and he the all-boys. They'd known each other for the last two years, but had never played together; she guessed it was a good thing Rowan's mother was having the girl's baby brother, otherwise the two would never have gotten to be friends.

Rowan was quite a pretty child, with long dark hair and enchanting dark eyes- what people in Ireland called the 'dark Irish.' She had a smattering of freckles across her nose, and was always smiling. Her mother- like Kathleen had done with Sarah- had had her ears pierced as a baby and Rowan wore a pair of small emerald studs, a gift from her grandmother. She, like Sarah and Timmy both, did Irish dance, and the two older children were in the same age group in competition and class. The girl was very sweet, and was able to pull Kathleen's quiet, slightly shy Timmy out of his shell in a way no one else could, and she was quickly becoming one of Timmy's best friends.

The boy's therapist had told her that life needed to return to normal- and stay normal- as soon and as long as possible. And if anything, Rowan could give that normalcy back to her children; for Sarah adored Rowan, then the girl could visit as often as she wanted. As she slid the bread into the oven, Timmy came back into the kitchen. "_Ev'rything_ okay, _me love_?" The boy nodded. Kathleen picked up her mug, taking a sip of her coffee as she took at seat at the table. As soon as she was seated, the boy climbed into her lap. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his head. Slowly, she reached up, brushing her fingertip along her son's cheek, tracing the scar he'd received two years earlier in that bomb blast. "_Ye 'ave_ therapy_ t'morrow, rem'mber_?" After a moment, the boy nodded.

"_Mams_,_ d'_ I_ 'ave t'_ go?" He turned big green eyes to her, and she sighed.

"_Aye. Ye know th'_ therapist helps make _yer_ mind_ bett'r_. Makes it so it's _no'_ sick _anymo'_." The boy wrinkled his nose.

"_Bu'_ she'll make me talk_ 'bout_ it again." He whispered. Kathleen cocked her head.

"_'bout wha'_, love?" Timmy swallowed, looking up at her.

"_Th'_ _bombin'_." He whispered, meeting his mother's gaze.

"D..._ d' ye wanna_ tell me_ 'bout_ it?" But the boy just shook his head and got down, returning to the living room.


	12. Chapter 12

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to crawcolady and mmsolargirl for reviewing 6; DS2010 for reviewing 8 and 10; earthdragon for reviewing 10; and Reader for reviewing 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10.**

_2012_

Ziva started, surprised. She turned to Kathleen, who sighed and gently peeled Sarah off of her. Then, she pushed her daughter into the arms of the man behind her- John McGee, if Ziva were to take a guess. "Timmy, love." He turned to her, green eyes filled with confusion. "_Da's_ home. Go tell_ 'im 'ello_, okay, love?" Several seconds passed, before he nodded, moving past them, but stopped to cast a confused glance at Ziva. Once he was out of sight, Kathleen grabbed Ziva's arm, yanking her towards the stairs and up into the bedroom. Once she'd softly shut the door, the older woman turned to Ziva, but never got a word out.

"Who is Rowan Gallagher? And why does Tim say she's his girlfriend?"

Kathleen took a deep breath, determined to stay calm. "See, Ziva? This... this is why I warned ye." The Israeli beauty took a seat on the edge of the bed, confused, but listening. "Ye canna handle somethin' like this-"

"I have handled things like this before, Mrs. McGee."

But Kathleen shook her head. "_No'_ like this, Ziva. _No'_ like this."

"Then _what is_ this? Tell me, please!" She searched the older woman's eyes, before getting up and going to her. "If this is PTSD, I can handle that! Mrs. McGee, I grew up in_ Israel_, bombings and murders were a normal occurrence there. If Tim and Sarah are suffering from PTSD, I can help." She stepped closer, reaching out for the other woman. "I'm going to be family soon, remember? I'm going to be Tim's _wife_ soon, and if this... if this is something he needs to work through, I can help. I _love_ Tim, Mrs. McGee, otherwise, I wouldn't have said yes. Now, please, just... give me something that will help me understand why he's acting this way- why they're both acting this way."

Kathleen sighed, taking a seat on the bed. She dug her fingers into the blankets on the bed, struggling to remain calm. Seeing her daughter so upset, so frightened... She looked up, not having heard Ziva speak. "I'm sorry?"

"Who is Rowan? Tim said his..." Ziva swallowed. "That his girlfriend's name was Rowan Gallagher. Who is she?" Slowly, Ziva took a seat beside the older woman, watching her.

"Rowan was... our _nex'_ door_ neighbo'_ in Derry. She grew... she grew up_ wit'_ Timmy _an'_ Sarah." Kathleen took a deep breath. "_Child'ood_ _sweet'earts._ Rowan was... _'is_ firs_t_ love." She spoke slowly, forcing the words out, and thereby diminishing much of the lilt she'd acquired over the years, thanks to her living in Ireland, and her studying of the various accents- and thereby, her picking up of the well-known Irish lilt too. "_An'_ he was hers. They were_ insepar'ble_." Ziva listened, her dark gaze moving down, watching as Kathleen's knuckles began to turn white from the force of her grip on the blankets. But the older woman had closed her eyes, and after a moment, she turned, opening them.

In Ziva's place, sat Rowan, just as beautiful and vibrant as the day she died, and then, with a blink of her eyes, the girl was gone. Kathleen sniffled, her nose wrinkling.

"A _v'ry_ beautiful girl. Dark hair _an'_ dark eyes..." She stopped, blinking the tears away. She couldn't lose it now, not after all these years. Rowan had been gone eighteen years, laid to rest in the cold, unforgiving ground of Milltown Cemetery, in Belfast, where her father was originally from; where her parents had returned after her death, to be closer to their daughter. No, she couldn't lose control and start crying, she had to be strong; both her children needed her. Taking a deep breath, she met Ziva's gaze. "She looked a_ lo'_ like you, Ziva." She whispered, voice soft, slow, as though every word was painful.

"Timmy told me once,_ tha'... tha'_ Rowan..." She chuckled softly at the memory. "_Tha'_ Rowan was_ goin' t'_ be my _daug'ter_-in-law someday." She shook her head, even as Ziva's heart fell. _"'e_ was ten..."

"What... what happened to her?" The two women locked eyes, and after a moment, Kathleen spoke, releasing her hands from the bed and nervously twisting her wedding ring. "To Rowan? What happened?" Ziva swallowed, leaning closer. "Please, Mrs. McGee, I need to know. If I'm going to help Tim at all... I need to know what I'm up against. I _need_ to know what I'm facing, so that I can help him." The older woman took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully, slowly.

"Dead. _Sho'_ while out _wit'_ Timmy one afternoon. Died on _th'_ pavement, feet from her _fron'_ door."

"I'm sorry-"

_"Jus'_ turned fifteen- three months _old'r_ than Timmy... he... broke down _an'..."_ Kathleen sniffled, quickly brushing away the tears that trailed down her cheeks. _"an'_ tried_ committin'_ suicide for the _firs'_ time that night... Sarah found him. _An'_ thank God she did."

"The... the first time?" Ziva asked; Kathleen nodded. She didn't want to know, but couldn't stop herself from asking,

"Ho-"

"Hanging." Kathleen choked out. "Spent... six weeks in _'ospital_... after_ 'e_ got_ ou'_, we... we went down to Kinvara, to... to visit John's aunt. Timmy, he... he recovered, he..."

"Got better." She nodded again. "So... _that's_ why you want Tim and Sarah to go back to Irealnd? To... to go to... to Kinvara?" Kathleen nodded once, sniffling. "I don't understand. What's Kinvara, some... some mystical stream or magic woods or-"

"No,_ nothin'_ like that." Kathleen replied, meeting Ziva's gaze. "It's a small town, in the Republic. We _'ave_... a cottage there... that Siobhan left John_ aft'r_ she died." She took a deep breath, trying to relax. "It's a... small village, near _th'_ Cliffs _o'_ Moher. We would... go down _an'_ visit Siobhan quite _of'en_... Timmy _an'_ Sarah loved it there. _'appy_ memories. _Nothin' bu' 'appy_ memories there."

Then, she stood going to the door; Ziva watched her go, just as confused as before, but much less angry with the older woman. After a moment, Kathleen turned back. "Come on. _Ye_ can meet John."


	13. Chapter 13

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**A/N: We get to meet the... elusive... John in the next chapter... **

**Thanks to Reader for reviewing 11 and 12. **

_March, 1988_

Footsteps rushed towards him and he looked up. "Timmy!"

_"Mams!"_ He threw his arms around his mother, burying his face in her shoulder. Rowan sat on the exam table beside him, silent. They'd just come from the Milltown Cemetery, to attend the funeral of Danny McCann- Rowan's favorite uncle- and had been two of the first hurt in the bombing attack by loyalist Michael Stone. Both children had only been grazed by shrapnel, but it had been enough to warrant trips to the hospital.

"We're so sorry, Kathleen. If we'd known-" But the other woman reached out, taking Elizabeth Gallagher's hand.

"_Ye dinna_ know, Liz._ 'tis no' yer_ fault."

Kathleen had allowed Timmy to go because he was older, and because Rowan's parents would be with them during the funeral, but had forbidden Sarah to go because she was too young. And the former American had kind of been forced to give in when Rowan asked if Timmy could go. Kathleen wasn't ashamed to admit that she had a soft spot for the girl. Despite Danny McCann's connections to the IRA, Kathleen had felt that it was safe enough to let her son go with the girl and her family- after all, who in their right mind would dare cause something at a funeral?

Clearly, she was wrong.

News of the attack was all over TV by now, broadcast all over Ireland, images of the throng of mourners, the three cars carrying the coffins, the tricolors being folded and the bodies lowered into the ground, followed by the sight of a man throwing hand grenades and firing a gun as he was being chased by a mob of mourners. Media all over Ireland were already call it the 'Milltown Massacre.'

In all, three were dead, and over sixty wounded.

As soon as Kathleen had heard the news, she'd gone next door, asking Mr. and Mrs. O'Hare to watch Sarah for an hour or so. Elizabeth had called not long after she'd returned to the house to get her purse; she'd let the young mother know what hospital they were in and that the kids were fine, just suffering from shock, with a couple scrapes and cuts.

Kathleen pulled away from her son, searching his eyes. "Are ye okay, love?" Timmy nodded, glancing at Rowan.

"_Aye, Mams_. We're fine." Kathleen glanced at the girl, before nodding. She slowly pulled away from her son, letting the doctor do one last check on the boy before discharging him. After thanking Elizabeth and James, she took Timmy home.

After picking a sleeping Sarah up from next door, Kathleen put the girl to bed and then went to bed herself, only to find her son sitting in the middle of it. As Kathleen removed her jacket, she asked,

"_Ye_ okay, love?" Timmy nodded. She sighed, taking a seat on the bed across from him. "Should I make an appointment _wit_'-"

"No!"

"- _th' therapis' t'morrow_?" She finished, even as her son frantically shook his head.

"No, _Mams_. I... I'm fine." He whispered. His mother raised an eyebrow. "It_... 'twasn't_ as scary as... maybe _b'cause_ there were... more people _'round... an'_ Rowan was there..." Kathleen studied her son, before whispering,

"_Ye_ really like _'er_, don't _ye_?" His head snapped up.

"_No!_ I... I_ don't_... I..." But his mother chuckled, gently reaching up and caressing his cheek, stopping him from shaking his head.

"_'tis_ okay, love. I won't tell." He blushed.

"She's... okay. For a _gir'_..." Kathleen chuckled.

"_Really_?" She asked, resting her forehead to his. He shrugged, before nodding. Silence fell, before Timmy lay his head against her chest, curling into her arms and listening to his mother's heart. She wrapped her arms tight around him, holding her son close. "_Ye_ still need _t'_ go_ t'_ the _therapis'_, Timmy, love." The boy shook his head, burrowing closer to his mother. She pressed a kiss to his head, gently rubbing her son's back, fingers tangling in his hair. "_Aye... ye_ need_ t'_ talk_ 'bout_ this _wit'_ someone, love."

"Talk... Rowan..." His mother chuckled softly, nuzzling his head with her nose. She breathed in his scent, the familiar scent of soap and wind and that well-known scent that only a parent recognized. It was a scent that John reveled in when he was home, on the nights when he would bury his face in his children's hair and breathe them in, relishing the feel of his beloved children in his arms.

"Even so, Rowan's_ no'_ a _therapis'_, love. The _therapis' 'elps ye, doesn'_ she?" The boy didn't respond. She gently rocked her son back and forth, humming softly as the sound of her heartbeat lulled him to sleep. "Tell _ye wha'_, love. We'll take_ th'_ weekend _an'_ go down_ t'_ Kinvara, _t'_ see _Aintín_ Siobhan, okay? _Tha'_ sound good?" After a moment, the boy nodded sleepily. "Okay."

After she put Timmy to bed, she headed downstairs and fixed a cup of coffee. She settled at the kitchen table, becoming lost in thought. Thank God the kids hadn't been hurt today; if she'd lost Timmy today, she didn't know what she'd do. Her gaze drifted down to her wedding ring, and the beautiful engagement ring John had given her. She'd been a star-struck college student when John had taken her to that small café just outside of Dublin. When he'd gone up to order the coffee, and returned with their orders, setting her mug in front of her before taking a seat. But all she'd been able to see was the ring, hanging from the handle of the spoon that rested in her coffee.

They'd gotten married after graduation, and then they'd had Timmy in September, seventy-nine. And that little boy was currently the light of her life; both him and Sarah were what got her through the day, and to see them both struggling-

She shook herself, glancing at the clock. After finishing her coffee, she went upstairs, kissing both her children one last time before going to bed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_2012_

"So..._ ye mus'_ be _th'_ young woman_ 'ho's marryin'_ our Timothy?" Ziva looked up, finding herself face-to-face with John McGee. A moment passed, before she nodded, and quickly turned off the stove, pouring two cups of tea. As she set one on the table in front of him, she couldn't help drinking in every detail she could see.

John McGee was tall, close to six feet, like his son, with sandy hair and green eyes, an exact replica of the man Ziva loved, just older. The Irish lilt Tim possessed was thicker in his father's voice, and Ziva noticed he had the same long, slender fingers his son had. The older McGee was handsome, with a light in his eyes that Ziva had only rarely seen in her fiancé's in the last few weeks. "Yes. It... it's nice to meet you, Mr. McGee." She whispered, meeting his gaze. He cocked his head, before reaching out and tilting her chin up.

"_Ye loo'_ like-"

"Rowan Gallagher?" Ziva whispered, unable to keep the jealousy out of her voice. John nodded, sniffing derisively.

"_Aye._" He tilted her chin until she faced him. "_Bu' 'twas goin' t'_ say _tha' ye loo'_ like _me_ wife, when she was_ young'r_. _Mos' likely 'ave th'_ same fire _an' spiri'_ Katlee_ 'as_. Good._ Ye'll_ need it, _wit' th'_ road_ ye'll_ be on_ wit'_ Tim." He glanced over his shoulder, he could just make out Kathleen, stroking her fingers through Sarah's hair, whispering softly to her. She swallowed, choosing her words carefully.

"Mr. McGee... your... your wife... she doesn't trust me... I..." She stopped, as she found herself the subject of John's green gaze, and after a moment, took a deep breath before continuing on. "I... I know we haven't met, and that Tim and Sarah haven't mentioned me, but-"

"Sarah mentions _ye_ all_ th'_ time, Ms. David."

"Ziva, please. I... I'm going to be your daughter-in-law soon." He chuckled, nodding.

"_Aye, ye_ are." He took a sip of his tea, sighing. "Sarah adores_ ye,_ _'tis_ Timothy _tha'... tha' 'a_s a _'ard_ time_ trustin'."_

"But... I don't understand. He... he trusts me..."

"_'tis no' tha' 'e doesn' trus' ye_, Ziva, _'tis tha'... 'e doesn' trus' 'imself_." She furrowed her brow, confused.

"I... I don't-"

"We tried, _t' ge' 'em_ both _'elp_ when they were younger... _bu'_ they're _stubb'rn_; our Timothy more so,_ b'cause 'e's th' eldes'. 'e_ always refused, no _matt'r_ if Katlee _an'_ I forced_ 'im. Wouldn'_ talk _t' th' therapis', wouldn'_ take _th'_ medication, _wouldn'_ show_ 'is_ emotions _a'_ all. Convinced_ 'imself 'e 'twas_ fine _an' didn'_ need_ 'elp... an'_ certainly _no' ours. Jus'_... buried_ ev'rythin'... esp'cially afte'_ Rowan died."

Ziva glanced down at her ring, at the two stones, winking in the kitchen light. She took a deep breath, remembering Kathleen's words. "He was..." She swallowed, forcing the lump down her throat as she realized that, had not she died, the ring that now resided on her finger could very well have resided on- "He was going to... to marry her. Rowan Gallagher. Kathleen told me."

John nodded, sighing. "_'twas_ deeply in love_ wit' 'er_, Tim. _An'_ she_ wit' 'im. An'_ when she died..." He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the afternoon he and Kathleen had come outside to find their son struggling to keep Rowan from bleeding out, to see their son begging her to hang on, to the paramedics struggling to pull the boy away from her, to the sound of his anguished screams, and the mental break that soon followed. "It _destr'yed 'im_."

"Mr. McGee, what is this?_ Please_, I have to know." She leaned close, catching his gaze. "I love Tim, and... I can't lose him. If this is some sort of... of PTSD, or... or some..._ traumatic amnesia_ or... or something else, I_ need_ to _know_. Tim and Sarah are my family... I love them... I want to help. I... I grew up in Israel, I know all about PTSD, I have it; I _know_ I do. I can help them both. I'll listen, Ducky and Tony and Gibbs... we'll all listen. _Please,_ Mr. McGee, let us help. Let _me_ help. Please."

John sighed, before getting up. He went to the doorway, leaning against it as he watched his children with his wife. After a moment, he spoke, never taking his eyes off his family. Though his children had grown, had long since moved away from Ireland and its problems, there was still a pain in their eyes, in their countenances, that he wished had never been there. He thought back on Ziva's words; she herself had admitted to growing up in a country of violence and death, and John could see in her eyes, the same torture and pain that haunted his children.

Maybe she was right; maybe she would be the key to fixing all this. To helping his children heal, to sewing closed the wounds that were now all too fresh, ripped open again due to the bombing at NCIS. Maybe, if he and Kathleen let Tim's team help, then they would have their children back- the beautiful, loving children they'd been before their worlds had been ripped apart by violence and death.

It was a long shot.

He sighed, glancing at Ziva over his shoulder. Though she wore pain in her own countenance, her own heart, she was willing to push it aside for the sake of the people she loved. She was willing to bury any tragedy from her own painful past, if it meant giving Tim and Sarah back their peace of mind. If it meant giving her back the man she loved; for she deeply loved Tim- it was as evident to John as the colors on the Irish flag. Ziva loved his son, probably more than life itself, and she would do anything to have him back, to hold the man she'd fallen in love with back in her arms.

Oh yes, it was one_ hell_ of a long shot.

After a moment, he turned back to his kids, but spoke to Ziva.

"Timothy _an'_ Sarah..." He sighed. "They're children _o' th'_ Troubles."


	15. Chapter 15

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_June, 1989_

_"Wha'd'ye mean, _I am a girl_?"_ Timmy jumped as Rowan tossed a pillow at him.

_"Well, ye are!"_ He protested, catching the pillow and throwing it back at her. They were downstairs in the living room, listening to Jazz and watching TV, while Kathleen checked on Sarah, who'd just had her tonsils out after several bad bouts of tonsillitis. Timmy had had his removed a year earlier, around Christmas, but had since fully recovered; he'd grown so sick of ice cream in those few weeks after the surgery that the bowls he and Rowan had now sat melting on the coffee table in the heat. _"Rowan!"_

She laughed as he caught the pillow, and then squealed as he threw it back at her. She caught it this time, pulling her legs under her and wrapping her arms around the pillow. A moment passed, as she stared at him, before, she quietly asked,

"_D' ye_ like me, Timmy?"

The boy started, absolutely surprised by the question. He stared at her, unsure of what to say or how to react. Eventually, he choked out, "Wh... why_ d' ye_ ask?"

Rowan bit her lip, before crawling towards him. She dropped the pillow to the floor, before leaning over and capturing his lips in a quick, soft kiss. "_B'cause_ I like _ye_." And then, without a word, she climbed off the sofa and fled, slamming the door. He stayed on the sofa, shocked, by both the kiss and her soft confession, and he didn't notice his mother come back downstairs.

She quickly looked around. "Did Rowan go _'ome_?" That seemed to snap the boy out of his shock, and he climbed off the sofa. Without a word, he dashed past his mother, fleeing upstairs; the slamming of his door was her only response. Kathleen sighed, before taking the two bowls of melted ice cream into the kitchen and dumping them into the sink. Just as she was about to start working on the dishes, she heard the phone ring, and quickly dried her hands before answering it.

"McGee residence."

"_'ey_ Katlee." She couldn't help the grin as she realized it was John on the other end. She glanced towards the clock, doing the math in her head.

"_Wha'_ are _ye_ doing, _callin'_ at this _'our_, love?" He chuckled as she scolded him gently; she missed that laugh. His visits home were few and far between lately, and there were times, when she felt like a single mother instead of a housewife, raising two children on her own. But then John would call or surprise them and come home on leave and she'd remember why she loved this man.

"Wanted _t'_ check on_ ye_. Saw on the news- the s_hootin's_ in _Belfas'_. Make sure_ ye an'_ th' kids are okay." She couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her lips; that was her John, protective, loving, sensitive.

"_Aye_, we're all fine. We miss _ye_. So much." She turned at the sound of soft footsteps, to see Timmy come back downstairs. As she took a seat at the table, she beckoned for Timmy to join her, mouthing to the boy that his father was on the other end, and wanted to talk to him. Smiling, the child rushed to his mother's side, perching on her lap. "Timmy wants_ t'_ talk_ t' ye_, John." She handed the phone to the child, who smiled up at her.

"Hi _Da_." John chuckled.

"_'ey_ Timmy, love. _Wha' 'ave ye_ been up_ t'_ lately?" The boy bit his lip.

"Sarah _go' 'er_ tonsils taken_ ou'_." Kathleen rested her head against her son's listening to her husband's voice on the other end of the line. The two talked for several minutes about everything and nothing, before the boy asked, "Will _ye_ be_ 'ome_ for _me_ birthday,_ Da_?"

His father sighed. "I'm _no'_ sure, love." John whispered, and Kathleen felt her son's hopes fall.

"Well, there are three months _b'fore yer_ birthday, Timmy love, so_ ye nev'r_ know._ Da_ may be_ 'ome_ by then." The boy turned back to the phone.

"Could _ye, Da_? _Canna ye_ ask?" John heard the pleading in his son's voice, but didn't want to get his hopes up in case he couldn't. He heard the hope tinting the boy's voice and after a moment of thought,

"Tell _ye wha'_, Timmy. I will ask_ t'morrow, an'_ call _t' le' ye_ know _wha' me_ boss says. Okay?" The boy bit his lip before nodding, even though his father couldn't see him.

"Promise?" John chuckled.

"_Aye, love_. Now,_ 'tis_ late, _an' ye_ need_ t'_ go _t'_ bed. Okay?_ Swee'_ dreams, love."

"Okay. Love _ye, Da_." John chuckled, whispering the sentiment back to his son. Then, with a kiss to his mother's cheek, Timmy got up, going back upstairs. Once he was gone, Kathleen sighed.

"They miss _ye_, John." He sighed softly.

"I miss_ 'em_ too, Katlee._ An'_ I miss _ye_. I _shoul'_ be_ 'ome_ in a couple weeks-"

"I know, John." They fell into silence, the kind of silence filled with comfort and the knowing that the one you loved was there, on the other line. A moment passed, as she struggled to think of something to say, something that didn't include her begging for him to come home, when she knew he couldn't. But it was John that broke the silence.

"Siobhan's dead." She started.

"Ah... I... John?" He took a deep breath.

"_Ma_ called _thi' mornin'_, asked me_ t'_ meet _'er_ for lunch if I _coul' ge'_ off base. Siobhan... sh... she died in a car crash, Katlee. A couple days ago."

"Oh John-" She knew how close he was to his aunt, and could hear the tears welling his voice as he spoke. "Love, I-"

"She... she left me _'er_ cottage-"

"In Kinvara?" Kathleen asked; finding the only thing she could really grasp that made any sense through the cloud of shock.

"_Aye_. When I _ge'_ back, love, we'll go down _an'... an'..."_

"Shh, love. I know." She whispered, feeling the tears slide down her own cheeks. She could only imagine how John was feeling now. "I know."


	16. Chapter 16

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_2012_

Kathleen looked up as John came back into the living room with Ziva in tow. "Katlee,_ 'ow 'bout_ we_ le'_ Ziva spend some time _wit'_ Timmy, huh?" She glanced at her children, before gently brushing her fingers through Sarah's curls. A moment passed, before she nodded, getting up.

"Come on, Sarah love, _ye_ can tell Da and I all _'bout_ school." She helped the younger woman to her feet, leading her into the kitchen. Sarah turned back, confused.

"Bu'... _wha' 'bout_ Timmy? _Canna 'e_ come?" Kathleen wrapped an arm around her daughter's waist, holding her close.

"Timmy..._ 'e's goin' t'_ be _spendin'_ some time _wit'_ Ziva, love. Okay?" Sarah turned back to her mother, brow furrowing.

"_Wh's_ Ziva?" Once they were gone, the woman in question turned to her fiancé. She sighed, shuffling her feet. He watched her, trying to figure out how they were connected, and coming up blank. Taking a deep breath, she went to him, holding out her hand.

"Do... do you... want to... to go for a walk? Maybe... maybe get a cup of coffee?" Tim seemed to think for a moment, as if weighing his options, before glancing at his parents. John kept a close eye on his son, giving the slightest of nods. Slowly, Tim turned his gaze back to the woman in front of him. "It's just coffee." She whispered, hoping that if she let him know there'd be no expectations, then he wouldn't have to fear her.

Slowly, he reached out, taking her hand. She tried to hide the excited shiver that ran up her spine at the feel of his long, slender fingers back in hers after so many hours apart. As she helped him to his feet, she glanced towards his parents; Kathleen was keeping Sarah occupied, and the young Israeli softly nodded to John before leading Tim to the door.

They left the townhouse, heading down to their usual coffee shop not far from their place, walking side by side but not touching. Tim had pulled away as soon as they left the house, sticking his hands into his pockets. At some point during that morning, Tim had changed into a pair of jeans, a simple dark blue button-down, and sneakers. The blue of the shirt brought out even more of the green in his eyes, and she tried desperately to make eye contact, but he kept avoiding her. After they stopped at the coffee shop, they headed towards the park, crossing the bridge that overlooked the small lake. She leaned against the rail, letting the silence envelope them.

Tim sighed. "Look, I... I'm sorry, I_ jus'..."_ He swallowed. She glanced at him.

"I'm Ziva." She whispered; he nodded.

"Okay._ An'... wha'_ is our... connection?" A soft sigh escaped her lips.

"We're coworkers. We work together at NCIS, and... we live together. We're engaged." Tim snorted softly.

"I know _ye_ think there is _somethin' b'tween_ us, _bu'_-" He watched her face fall, and after a moment, she reached up, taking his chin in her hand.

"Listen to me, Tim. You are my partner at NCIS, you are my fiancé, and the love of my life. And... I know that the explosion is what's caused this, but I need you to come back to me. Please. I need you okay so I can help fix what's destroying you, otherwise I'll lose you forever, and I... I can't risk that. I've lost too many people already; I can't lose you." She leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He moved to pull away, but she wrapped her arm around his neck, holding him to her. After several minutes, he slowly slid a hand along her waist, holding her just as close.

When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead to hers, taking a deep breath. "Please, Tim. I know that whatever you went through was traumatic, but you need to let me in. Let me help you, please. I_ love_ you." He searched her eyes, and after a moment, whispered,

"_Ye_ aren't Rowan." She shook her head. "_Ye're_... Ziva..." She nodded quickly.

"Yes, love. It's your Ziva, remember?" She took his face in her hands. "Look at me." Minutes passed, minutes of her frantically searching his gaze for some sort of recognition, and after a moment, she leaned up, capturing his lips once more, in a soft, loving kiss. "Please remember me, Tim." He slowly slid his hands around her body, finding the soon familiar curves he'd known for years...

"Ziva." She smiled, nodding. He kissed her quickly, resting his forehead against hers. "Oh, Ziva..." She sniffled, meeting his gaze. "I... _I'ma_ so-"

"Shh. Hush, love. I understand." She kissed him again, drinking in his taste before reluctantly pulling away. "You and Sarah... you both have... you both have PTSD. From your childhood in Ireland." He furrowed his brow, confused.

"_Tha's... tha's no'_ possib..."

"Tim-" He pulled away.

"Sarah _an'_ I are fine. We... we _don' 'ave_ PTSD, Ziva." She shook her head.

"Yes, you do. I know the signs, Tim, because I have it. And you... you've helped me work through it. Now it's my turn to help you work through yours." She held his face in her hands. "Please, baby. Let me help."

He sighed, before moving away. She took a deep breath, following. Eventually, she looked up, feeling him slip his hand into hers. She turned, startled. After a moment, she looked up, meeting his gaze. They wandered through the park, eventually taking a seat at a bench beneath a tree near the lake's edge. He played with her hand, tracing her fingers with his, before he stopped. "_Ye're wearin' Mams's_ ring. So... we really are _'ngaged_." She nodded.

"Yeah. We are." She bit her lip, thinking. "Tim, I.. I know that... that the explosion at NCIS caused this... this PTSD..." He was silent. "I understand that. But... but what I don't understand... what I don't understand is... is why you kept it from me. Tim, you know that you can tell me anything. So... why hide it? Don't you trust me?" He continued to play with her engagement ring, before finally, slowly, meeting her gaze.

"_I'ma_ sorry I_ kep' i'_ from _ye_. I _jus'_... I _jus' dinna wan' ye t'... t'_ think any _diff'rent o'_ me-" She reached up, taking his face in her hands.

"Tim, I would never think differently of you, other than you're a very, very strong, compassionate man, to have lived through that and survived with your heart intact. And that I am _so lucky_ to call you mine." She rested her forehead to his. "You're mine, Tim. You've always been mine."


	17. Chapter 17

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_September, 1989_

Timmy's birthday was intimate, just a few close friends and his family- with the exception of the one person he wanted most there. Since the kiss back in June, he and Rowan had been pretending it didn't happen, but Kathleen could tell something went on between her son and the little girl from next door. So it was close to seven when the last of Timmy's friends went home, except for Rowan. She sat on the sofa beside him.

"Aren't _ye gonna ope' i'_?" He looked up at her, clearly lost in thought.

"_Wha'_?" She nudged his side, nodding to the present he held. "Oh. _Righ'_, sorry." Slowly, he opened it, peeling back the paper to reveal a beautiful, hardbound leather book. A moment passed in silence as he read the guilt lettering before he broke into a smile. "Oscar Wilde. _'e's_ one _o' me_ favorite authors-"

"I know." She whispered, blushing. He slowly opened the book, studying the pages, before closing it and turning to her.

"Thank ye, Rowan." The girl nodded.

"_D' ye_ like _i'_?" He nodded, biting his lip. And then, he leaned close, kissing her softly, just as she'd done to him nearly three months before. It was soft, sweet, the gentle first kiss of two nervous children, trying it out for the first time. When he finally pulled away, he was blushing.

"Sorry. _An'..._ I... I love _i'_." Rowan giggled nervously, blushing.

"_'tis_ okay. I did_ th'_ same _t' ye. Paybac'_?" He shrugged, before a knock sounded on the door and Mrs. Gallagher poked her head in.

"Rowan,_ ye_ ready, love?" The girl nodded, climbing off the sofa. "_'ey_ Timmy._ 'appy_ birthday."

"Thank _ye_, Mrs. Gallagher." Once Rowan was gone, Sarah joined her brother on the sofa, leaning against him, to read the title. They sat in relative silence, Sarah leaning into her brother's side, listening as Timmy read the first story in the book. Neither noticed the front door opening, until a familiar voice broke the quiet.

"_Don'_ tell me I've missed _celebratin' me_ son's birthday." Both children looked up, to see their father close the door softly behind him. Sarah was the first one off the sofa, throwing herself into her father's arms. John scooped his daughter up, pressing a kiss to her cheek. As Sarah wrapped her arms around her father's neck, Timmy just watched the scene, green eyes wide in shock. He'd wished for this, but-

"John?" Timmy turned as his mother came into the living room. His father turned to her, grinning.

"_Aye_, Katlee?" Without a word, Kathleen rushed towards her husband, throwing her arms around his neck. She held tight to her husband, pressing a firm kiss to his lips, before pulling away and turning to her son.

"Aren't_ ye goin' t'_ come tell _Da 'ello_, love?" It took a moment, before Timmy set his book aside and got up. Sarah had reluctantly let go of her father, curling into her mother's arms, as John went to the boy and knelt down, holding his arms out.

_"Da_?" John nodded.

"_Aye_, love. I'm _'ome_."

"_Da!"_ The boy rushed to his father, throwing his arms around John's neck. He buried his face in his father's shirt, tears coming to his eyes. John pressed a kiss to his son's head, breathing in that familiar scent he loved. He'd promised himself he wouldn't let Timmy down; that he'd be there for his son's tenth birthday... and even though he was late, he'd managed to keep his promise. After several minutes, the boy finally burst into tears, and John held his son close, rocking gently back and forth. "_Ye're 'ome!" _

_"Aye,_ I am, love." When he was finally able to pull away, he tugged his gear off his shoulder and opened the knapsack, pulling something out. "Picked _thi'_ up _b'fore_ I _lef'. 'tis somethin'_ in there from Penny as well." He held the package out to the boy, who sat beside his father, studying the box. As John stood and set his things aside, the boy climbed to his feet and returned to the sofa; John and Kathleen joined him, watching as he slowly opened the gift. Sarah perched on her mother's lap, holding tight to Emily, burying her nose in the doll's dark curls. Once the boy opened the gift, he pulled out a small, leather bound journal with a Celtic knot on the front. It was blank, except for the first page.

_Timothy, my sweetheart,_

_The best writers and novelists often start out with pain and violence in their backgrounds. How they overcome it, is by using their ability to wield the pen and the_ _word, to create something truly beautiful, that will open the mind, heart and soul._ _You have the gift that so many long for, sweetheart, that only a select few can truly delve into and spin into beautiful tales of wonder. I hope with this journal, you will be able to write down what you've experienced, what you've lived through, and work through it. Find the good in the bad, sweetheart, and only good will come to you in the end. _

_Happy Birthday, love. _

_Love, _

_Penny_

"_'tis_ a journal." John chuckled, pressing a kiss to his son's head, as the boy gently set the book on the table and picked up the package again, lifting out a small box. He glanced at his father for a moment, before unwrapping the box and opening it. Nestled inside was silver chain, with several small pendants hanging from it- a silver shamrock, a white gold trinity knot, a small harp, a map of Ireland, one of the family crest, and a small, tricolored flag. Timmy looked up as his father as John gently took the chain from him.

"Each _o'_ these represents _somethin'_ in _'reland. Somethin' impo'tant t'_ us. _Th'_ shamrock, for _goo'_ luck;_ th'_ trinity for_ lus' o'_ life with no_ beginnin'_, middle or end; our family_ cres' t'_ remind _ye o' wh' ye_ are;_ th' 'arp_ for love in _th'_ form _o'_ art;_ th'_ map_ o' 'reland t'_ remind _ye o'_ where _ye_ come from,_ an' th'_ tri for _th' 'ope_ we all _'ave tha'_ one day, we will _'ave_ peace in our country." Once he'd closed the clasp, he gently fixed the pendants around his son's neck. He studied his son's gaze, before pressing a kiss to his head, and allowing the boy to curl into him embrace.

As Sarah climbed into her father's lap, Kathleen wished- even though she knew better- that John was home for good.


	18. Chapter 18

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

_2012_

Her fingers moved along the chain around his neck, brushing against each small pendant.

She sighed; slowly, she lifted her head, studying his features. He slept soundly. Her gaze moved to the clock on the nightstand.

Little after midnight.

Exhaling deeply, she sat up, pulling her knees up and burying a hand in her tangled curls. How had they gotten to this point, exactly?

Oh, yeah.

After a slightly tense- and she only added the slightly because while Tim had seemed to calm and was able to tell between past and present, Sarah had still been having a hard time- dinner, Kathleen and John had taken Sarah back to her apartment, saying that they'd stay with her that night instead of going back to the hotel, wanting to keep a close eye on her. Obviously, they'd both seen the change to Tim when the couple had returned from their walk; he'd seemed more relaxed, calmer, and had refused to let Ziva out of his sight. Deciding that he was left in good, capable hands, they'd bid goodnight after dinner and left.

She and Tim had then spent some time in the living room, watching moving and sharing coffee; he kept one hand tangled in hers the entire time, and when she felt as though he was relapsing- she hated that word for this situation, but that was essentially what it was- she would tug his gaze towards hers and kiss him softly. Her kisses seemed to calm him down.

At one point, they'd forgotten about the move and gone to bed. Those soft, chaste kisses had spilled over into gentle, cautious lovemaking- a night of familiarizing themselves with each other and meeting the others' needs as opposed to a usually wild, exciting romp. And when they'd finished, she'd held him to her, holding his head to her chest, stroking her fingers through his hair, hoping the sound of her heartbeat would calm him. He'd wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her chest, softly breathing her name. And sometime, during the night, they'd switched places.

Now, she turned, studying him, the man she loved, who lay sound asleep by her side. One finger reached out, tracing the scar on his cheek, before moving down and moving over each pendant. She recognized a few of the small charms, but not all. Clearly, they were important to him, for he never took the necklace off. Sighing, she moved closer, leaning down to kiss each pendant, trailing her hand down his chest, to rest at his waist. He shifted, and she slowly raised her head, meeting his green eyes. He blinked, removing the sleep from them, and after a moment, he slid one hand up her body, wrapping around her waist and holding her to him. She smiled softly at him.

"Go back to sleep, my love." He shook his head, never taking his eyes off hers. She sighed, gently brushing a thumb against his cheek. "Why not?" But the only response she got was to be pressed into the bed, staring up into his eyes.

"_B'cause_ I _'ave_ a _beau'iful_ woman in _me_ bed. _An'_ there's no possible way I'd be able_ t'_ sleep _wit' 'er_ by _me_ side." She smiled softly, reaching up and tangling her fingers in his hair. Ziva searched his eyes, seeing recognition in them, and after a moment, she whispered,

"How did I end up falling... for such a beautiful man?" She played with the soft, downy hair at the nape of his neck, studying his eyes. "What did I do to... to get so lucky?" Then, she leaned up, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. One hand slid down his chest, moving to rest at his waist.

"Ziva..." She smiled softly, biting her lip.

"What is it, my love?" He rested his forehead to hers, taking a deep breath. Shaking his head, he pulled away, his gaze moving down to the Star of David she wore around her neck. His brow furrowed.

_It looks almost like... like Rowan's..._

Gently, he reached down, picking up the star and studying it.

_No, Rowan's... Celtic knot... Ziva's... Star o' David..._

"Tim? Love, what's wrong?" She pushed herself onto her elbow, causing him to pull his gaze from the charm. For a moment, he didn't recognize her; gently, Ziva reached out, taking his head in her hand and gently tugging until his lips met hers in a soft kiss. "Talk to me, love. Please." But Tim just bit his lip, shaking his head.

"_Nothin'_. Promise." Then, he captured her lips in his, drinking her in deeply. Her eyes snapped open as he kissed her, and she struggled to hold back the tears fighting to slide down her cheeks. But any thought of breaking down soon vanished as she felt his hand slide down her side, hooking under her thigh and pulling her closer. As he pulled away and moved to work on the soft skin of her neck, she choked out a gasp as he brushed against her. Gently pushing him away to meet his gaze, she smiled.

"You are _evil_, Timothy." He chuckled, capturing her lips in his again and shifting until she was situated in his lap. She wrapped her legs tight around him, shifting until she was settled, and then gently began running her fingers through his hair. He searched her gaze, hands running up and down her back, tangling in her curls. She held his gaze, tangling her fingers in his hair, enjoying the feel of his hands as they moved along her body. "And I love you so much."

He kissed her softly, before moving down and gently brushing his lips against the Star dangling just above her breasts.

_Rowan's Celtic knot..._

She tilted her head back, letting out a breathy sigh as he gently teased her nipples, tongue brushing tantalizingly quick over the sensitive buds.

"I love _ye_, _Rowan_..."

As he returned his lips to the gold charm, that soft whisper caused Ziva's dark eyes to snap open and her heart to speed up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to Reader for reviewing 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 and 18; puppypants for reviewing 15 and 18; Gottahavemyncis for reviewing 1, and madnessdownunder2 for reviewing 18. **

_May, 1990_

The rain continued to pour, soaking those caught within the storm through the skin, and the two children dashed down the sidewalk, ducking into a nearby bookstore to wait out the rain. The owner- Mr. Donnelly, who knew both kids, and often looked out for them when they were out and about- watched as the two children peeled off their coats and set them and their backpacks on a standing coat rack, before dashing over to look at the latest books. Mr. Donnelly watched as Timmy went to the small kitchen area, fixing three cups of cider and bringing them back to the counter. The boy set one in front of the older man before going to his companion.

The older man chuckled softly, nodding his thanks to the boy. The McGee children were always courteous and respectful, something drilled into their heads practically from birth. He watched as the two children wandered off to separate sections, looking for certain books. Eventually, the boy returned with a book on the American Military forces, taking a seat at the table and looking through it. At one point, the girl joined him, a book on the British Royal family during the war in her hands, that was soon abandoned when she saw what Timmy was looking at. The kids huddled close, studying the pictures.

"_Wha' ar'_ they?" She asked, pointing to a photograph.

"Marines." Timmy whispered, studying the group of men in camouflage.

"_'tis tha' wha' yer Da_ does?" Rowan asked, studying the men in the picture. Timmy shook his head.

"No._ Da's_ in _th'_ Navy._ 'tis_ an _ent'rely diff'rent_ branch, _Da_ says."

Rowan cocked her head to the side _"'ow?"_ Timmy met her gaze.

"_Da_ says Navy's_ bett'r_. They _don' run 'round_ in_ th' dir'_ like Marines do." The kids giggled, continuing to look through the photographs, until Timmy stopped. One photo caught his eye- a man, in Marine uniform, with bright, icy blue eyes. They reminded him of the wolves he'd seen in books. He'd never seen eyes that kind of color before.

"_Wha'_ are_ ye lookin' a'_?" Rowan leaned close, glancing over his shoulder. "_Wh'_ is _tha'_?" A moment passed, before Timmy glanced down at the names beneath the photo. He studied each, finally finding the name of the man who'd captured his attention.

"Le.._ L'roy... Jet'ro_... G... Gibbs..." The kids shared a look, before shrugging and continuing to look through the rest of the book, even though Timmy couldn't get those blue eyes out of his head. By the time the kids left the store, the rain had stopped. Timmy had bought the book on American military and had it nestled contentedly in his backpack. After telling Rowan goodbye, he headed up the steps to his own place and dashed into the house. As soon as the door shut behind him, he realized something was off. Heading into the kitchen, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table with someone, talking softly. Sarah sat on the person's lap laying her head on the other person's shoulder.

As he stepped into the kitchen, his mother's gaze went to him, and she smiled. She muttered something to her companion, and the person turned. Timmy couldn't believe it. His... he... _Da_ was home. A moment passed, before Timmy dropped the backpack, rushing into the kitchen._ "Da! Ye're 'ome!"_ Sarah slid of her father's lap, just as her brother threw himself into the older man's embrace, burying his face in John's shoulder. He held the boy close, pressing a kiss to his head.

"_Stan'_ back. _Le'_ me look_ a' ye_, Timmy." After a moment, the boy stood, backing up so his father could look at him. John sighed, shaking his head. "I_ don'_ believe this. _Ye mus' 'ave_ grown a whole two _fee'_ while I _'twas_ gone." He reached out, ruffling his son's hair. The boy laughed, pulling away.

"No _Da, jus'_ a couple inches." John narrowed his eyes.

"_Ye_ sure _'twas jus'_ a_ couple_ inches? _Ye_ look taller, Timmy boy." The boy blushed, going back to his father and climbing onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around John, resting his head on his shoulder. Kathleen propped her chin on her hand, enjoying the sight of her children with their father.

Later that night, after tucking the kids into bed, Kathleen slid beneath the covers, facing her husband. She reached out, brushing her fingers over his cheek with a whispered,

_"'ow_ long are_ ye 'ome_ for, John?" He sighed, capturing her fingers and pressing kisses to each one.

"Four weeks." She nodded, pulling her hand away and resting it on his chest.

"Wish_ 'twas_ more. Or_ tha' ye_ didn't _'ave t'_ go back." He reached for her, pulling her close, until she was nestled against his body, her head tucked under his chin. He ran a hand up and down her back, before tangling his fingers in her chestnut hair.

"I know, love._ Bu' 'tis th' bes'_ we can do for now. I'll _ge' ou' o' th'_ Navy someday-"

"_Bu' no'_ now." He shook his head.

"No." She searched his eyes, before reaching up and cradling his cheek in her hand.

"I missed _ye_, John." Then, without a word, she leaned up, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. He pulled her closer; tangling his hand in her dark curls as he drank in the taste of the woman he'd been counting down the days to see. He loved his children, but Kathleen had been his first love, long before either Timmy or Sarah had come along, and being separated from her...

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead to hers, letting the feel of her body against his and the taste of her mouth ground him in the present, in the reality that he was back in Ireland- even if only for a visit- with his wife in his arms and his children sleeping soundly in their beds down the hall. "I love _ye_, Katlee."


	20. Chapter 20

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: After the _lovely_ day I've had- stepped in a hole during my run this morning at four and twisted my ankle, got called into work at six, and then realized I'd forgotten the key to the building and had to backtrack, I lost the cashbox somehow, someway, between the small safe and the counter at the front of the store, slammed the flesh between my thumb and index finger into the drawer of the cash register and had to go to emergency for stitches because it cut the skin open deep and nicked a vein, was two hours late to dance _because_ of the trip to emergency, fell out of Pointe during class and twisted my ankle so badly my instructor had to pop it out of joint and then pop it back_ in_ before she could ice it, which left me out of the rest of my dance classes for the rest of the day, I failed a major test in my psychology class because... well, surprise, painkillers from the hospital and painkillers over the counter don't mix well with an online psychology test. **

**So, all I wanted to do when I got home tonight, was fix a cup of tea, sit down at my computer, put my music on and write, and then, just as I feel like I'm starting to relax and de-stress, I open my e-mailed reviews to this: **

_** "**_**_Here an idea tag your story and forwarn people to avoid this if it gag me moment Tiva story. How hard is that ? Its Not"_ **

**Just what I need on an already banner day. I've done more arguing with people today than I care to admit, so I'm not gonna argue, and I_ probably_ shouldn't respond, but after all the crap I've dealt with in the last twenty-four hours, I really don't think I could take anymore. So, here's a little reason as to_ why_ I write McGiva and_ not_ Tiva: **

**I watched the Tiva on the show, and frankly, it annoyed the hell out of me. Ziva could do _so much better_ than Ray, which she finally got the hint in season nine; and she could _definitely_ do_ so much better than Tony_. Like Damon Werth, for example. Nothing against Michael Weatherly, he's a brilliant actor, but I dated a guy _exactly_ like _Tony_ in personality a few years ago- and I mean his personality was... it was like he was Tony's _twin_ in the personality department- and about eight months**** before I broke it off, he started getting abusive. Wouldn't think it from the way he acted- the happy-go-lucky prankster with the narcissistic personality and love of movies. Like I said, and exact personality replica of Tony. **

**So I tolerated the Tiva on the show, because I kept reminding myself that even though this was a show, he wasn't like my ex. But whenever I watch an old episode of NCIS, my mind instantly goes back to that year and half I was in that relationship, because he was so like Michael's character on the how. This is nothing against those that do like and ship Tiva; this is my own personal issue. **

**Back to the issue at hand- I've tried, I _have tried_ writing Tiva, and I can't; it's _not happening_. I think part of it is- as my therapist says, because I've had issues writing anything and everything ever since that bad breakup- because I subconsciously project my own relationship onto the characters, and I can't distinguish between what was my reality and what was the characters'. It was actually my _therapist's_ suggestion (she used the same method to deal with her bitter divorce, only on _Stargate Atlantis_) to try to write McGiva, to help me work through my own issues with my ex-boyfriend. She said even if I work through all my issues, I still probably won't ever be able to write Tiva, because subconsciously, I will always associate Tony with my abusive ex. So I write McGiva instead. **

**Now, in response to the previously aforementioned review: **

**If you _DON'T_ like a certain ship, then _DON'T_ read the stories. It's as simple as that. I will post from now on, whether it's a McGiva fic or a Zabby fic or a whatever fic, but _DON'T_ read one of my stories, and then leave a snippy, snide or _nasty_ review. Clearly, you don't like McGiva, and you don't like McGee on the show, that's fine, everyone's entitled to their own ship, but _don't_ take it out on me because I _don't_ _write_ what you like. I write what I want to write, I write it for my own enjoyment and because it helps me work through my own issues. I write it because honestly- in all, absolute and complete honesty- Sean Murray and his character are the kind of guy I want in my life- kind, and considerate, and a gentleman and... and all I've gotten for my troubles have been drunks and drug addicts and abusers, so McGee, in my mind, is the kind of guy I want. The considerate, loving gentleman. Writing McGiva is a way for me to get through the mental and emotional abuse I suffered for eight months. In short;**

**Writing McGiva, for me, is _my therapy_. **

**So do not read one of my stories and then leave a comment basically telling me that I'm not writing what YOU want. I don't write for you, you're _not_ my agent, you're _not_ my editor, you're not anything to me other than a fly that won't leave me alone. Although, if this keeps up, I may just go back to writing _Eureka_ and leave_ NCIS_ and McGiva alone, which I'm probably guessing is what you want. And why have you decided to pick _me_ to annoy anyway? You don't_ know_ me, you don't have any association with me, so _why_ me? Or do you leave nasty comments just for kicks? And do you do it to _all_ McGiva writers, or _just me_? **

**No one asked you to like McGiva, no one asked you to read McGiva. Like and read Tiva all you want, I don't care. It's not my business, and it's not my cup of tea. Just leave me alone, _please_. Or, oh, here's an idea- if you_ love_ Tiva so much, find a few Tiva writers on the site- and trust me, there are plenty- and follow them instead of torturing me. How hard is that? Guess what, it's _not_. **

**To all my regular readers and reviewers, this is in no way directed at you or anyone else who's been so wonderful in sticking by me and reading and reviewing what I write. I just... I cannot deal with anything else today, and that review was the _last straw_. I was hoping that coming home after the day I had and going through the reviews on my stories would make the day seem just a tiny bit better, and let me know that maybe I am... I don't know, crazy as it sounds... appreciated in some way, since I got none of that during my day at all. **

**And that review- and it's one of _several_ snippy, snide _'reviews'_ that have been posted to a_ number_ of my McGiva stories- was the... topping on the cake, I guess, and I just... I can't handle it, not after the day I've had, I just can't, and I won't. I know that seems crass and rude and bitchy, but I just... I'm not going to tolerate that, especially when I couldn't do or say anything to stop everything else that happened from four a.m. on. Frankly, ****I'm at my wits' end right now and that review was just one more thing, and I'm not going to sit back and take it. **

**I can control this, to some extent, as stupid as that sounds. Or, at least, I _feel_ like I can. If it seems like I'm being a bitch, I'm sorry, I don't meant to be. I'm normally not, but when I get really stressed, I lash out, and this isn't directed at any particular person or thing, it's just... it's my way of getting some semblance of control over the situation that's been out of my control since early this morning. If you want to stop reading my writing, that's fine, but know that this isn't directed at any of my reviewers who've been... so loyal from the moment I started writing McGiva. This is just me, trying to get some semblance of control over my chaotic life. **

**Thanks to Gottahavemyncis for reviewing 18, and Reader and Sprig for reviewing 19. **

_2012_

She took a deep breath, telling herself to remain calm; it was no big deal, his was relapsing, nothing that couldn't be fixed. Slowly, she leaned down, caressing his face with her hands and capturing his lips in a deep kiss. His arms slid around her body, holding her to him, and after several moments, he flipped them over, never breaking the kiss. When they eventually broke apart, she caressed his cheek, whispering,

"Look at me, Tim." When his gaze met her, she saw the slight flash of recognition pass through his eyes, and taking another deep breath, met his lips again. Minutes passed, long minutes, filled with only the sound of skin touching and kisses breaking. She tangled one hand in his hair, arching her back slightly as he slid a hand down her side and pulled her closer. When they eventually broke the kiss, he met her gaze, resting his forehead to hers.

"Ziva..." She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. His green eyes met hers, and she gave him a soft smile, biting her lower lip.

"Hi. You're back." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her chest before burying his face in her skin.

"I'm sorry, Ziva... so... so sorry..." She held him close, tangling her fingers deeper into his hair.

"Shh. It's okay, love." She brushed a kiss to his head, feeling his arms tighten around her. "It's okay." As they finally settled down, she let her thoughts wander to what John had told her that afternoon in the kitchen. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she took a deep breath. Tim had been a child, but he'd told his mother that he was going to marry Rowan- and then, she'd died, at age fifteen. And Tim, who'd obviously witnessed her death, had been scarred for life. She could only imagine the pain, the absolute fear of watching the person you loved die before your eyes.

When she checked the time on the clock, she realized that it was close to three in morning, and after several minutes, she got up, slipping out from beneath him and pressing a kiss to his hair. With a sigh, she quickly pulled on one of his shirts, and headed into the kitchen. She fixed the coffee in silence, before taking a seat at the kitchen table and studying her engagement ring.

Had Tim planned on giving it to Rowan, back when they were dating? It was such a beautiful piece of jewelry, such a beautiful tradition, that Ziva couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, he had. Maybe the ring had never been meant for her, but for Rowan. What if it was always meant for Rowan?

"_Wha'_ are _ye doin'_ up?" She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. A quick glance at the clock told her that an hour and a half had passed; she'd been so lost in her own thoughts, she hadn't even noticed the time disappearing. Tim sighed, joining her at the table. She reached out, taking his hand as he took a seat across from her.

"Couldn't sleep." He nodded, raking a hand through his hair. A moment passed, before she bit her lip, and asked, "Tim, do you know who I am?" He stared at her like she'd lost her mind, before nodding.

"_O'_ course I do. _Ye're_ Ziva. Wh... why are _ye_-" But before he could finish, she'd gotten up from the table and made her way towards him, cradling his face in her hands and kissing him deeply before pulling away. "_Wha'_ was _tha'_ for?" She shook her head.

"I just love you." He nodded, kissing her sweetly before pulling away.

"I love you, too." Then, she pulled away, pouring two cups and setting one in front of him before returning to her seat. They sat in relative silence, each unsure of how to proceed or act around the other. Eventually, Ziva whispered,

"I... I know. About... Rowan Gallagher." He stopped, setting his cup down. A soft sigh of defeat slid from his lips, and he folded his arms on the table.

"_Ye_ do?" She nodded. "_'ow_ did _ye_-"

"You told me, Tim. Well, you told me who she was, and then... your parents filled in the rest." She watched, noticing a flicker of something in his eyes, and after a moment, she glanced down at the ring she wore. "Was this..._ meant_ for_ her_?" Tears filled her voice, and she struggled to keep them at bay. He sighed, understanding what she was asking, but kept quiet. "Was this ring ever meant for me?"

"Ziva, it was a long time ago. Rowan and I... we were kids-"

"But you were in love with her, right? Your first love? First kiss? First... everything?" She took a deep breath, forcing herself not to lose her temper. "Do you still love her?"

"Ziva... yes, I still love Rowan," He got up, moving around the table and kneeling beside her. "I will always love Rowan. _Bu'_ she's my _pas'. Ye're_ my_ fut're_." He reached up, gently caressing her cheek. "From _th' momen'_ we met,_ ye've_ been my_ fut're_." She reached up, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. Silence fell around them, and after a moment, Tim got up, refilling their mugs and going into the living room. After several minutes, she got up, joining him on the sofa. Setting her cup down, she pulled her legs under her and propped her elbow on the back of the sofa, resting her head against her hand.

"Tell me." He met her gaze. "About Ireland. About what it was like growing up there. Tell me about it. Please, Tim." He took a sip of his coffee before setting his own cup down and shifting to face her.

"Why? _Wha'_ could _ye_ possibly _wan' t'_ know, Ziva?" She shrugged.

"It's such a part of your life, and yet... I know next to nothing about it. I wouldn't have even known you were born there if I hadn't done that dossier on you years ago for Ari. So tell me about it. Please." She reached out, gently tapping his knee. He sighed, meeting her gaze.

"It's..._ 'tis th' mos'... beautiful_ country in _th'_ world._ Ev'rywhere ye_ look... _nothin' bu'_ green..." As he spoke, Ziva shifted, until she was laying on the sofa, her head in his lap. She tangled her fingers in his, listening as he told her what the countryside looked like, and all the little villages and towns that dotted the Irish hills; the St. Patrick's Day celebrations and the magical nights that preceded Samhain, when the veils between the worlds lifted; how children made fairy circles and search for the elusive four leaf clovers. She listened, the soft Irish lilt carrying her to a place she'd never been, and had only ever dreamed of seeing. Eventually, his voice, and the stories of that beautiful land, soothed her to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Sorry about that rant, guys. Yesterday was just... everything that _could_ go wrong,_ did_ go wrong, and that e-mailed review was the top of the cake that I just... didn't want to deal with. From four a.m. on, it was just... just a really, really, _really bad_ day, all the way around. I didn't mean to take it out on you guys. Honestly, if I could have taken it out on the person who wrote that review, I would have- with knives. And paperclips. And my personal favorite- box cutters. But I couldn't, so I used the keyboard instead. And then, when that was done, I took kitchen knives and left perfect slices in the cupboards of my kitchen. Anyway...**

**Thanks to Sprig, notquitearockgod, Challenge King, Reader, Crawcolady, Samspotsu and Bratling for reviewing 20. **

_Sunset, October 31, _

_Samhain, 1991_

The warm Irish air washed over them, and Kathleen pulled Sarah onto her lap, wrapping her arms around the little girl; the woolen blanket she had draped over her shoulders stopping any chill from reaching them. It was the annual Sunset festival, as those in Bogside called it: the lighting of the bonfire at sunset, to welcome the spirits and light their way into the city. Children, dressed in costumes, chased each other around the bonfire, chanting rhymes and songs, in hopes to appease the _aos sí_, the fairy folk, who often sought to cause mischief on this holiest of nights.

Sarah leaned against her mother, watching as Timmy, dressed as an Irish prince in green breeches and a white peasant shirt with a green plaid sash, chased after Rowan, who was dressed as an Irish lass from the fifteen-hundreds, complete in green plaid blouse, skirt and tam with a corset; the children were laughing and giggling, joining their friends as they raced each other around the bonfire. Sarah, dressed as a fairy, tilted her head back to look at her mother. _"Mams?"_

"_Wha'_ is it, _me_ love?" Kathleen whispered, brushing a kiss to her head.

"W... will _Aintin_ Grae come back?" Her mother thought a moment, before brushing a stray curl off her daughter's forehead.

"I know she will."

_"Forev'r?"_ Kathleen sighed.

"No, love._ Rememb'r? 'Tis Samhain_, which means_ th'_ dead-"

"Can only come back for_ th' nigh'_." Sarah recited, sighing deeply. _"Bu'-"_

_"Jus'_ be _gra'eful Aintin_ Grae will be back _a'_ all. When we _ge'_ home, we'll set a place for_ 'er_ at table,_ jus'_ as we will for_ Daideó_ McGee, like we did _las'_ year."

"_Wha' 'bout th'_ milk,_ Mams_?" The girl asked, turning to meet her mother's gaze. "_An' th' Bannock Samhain_? If_ 'tis no' ou', 'ow_ will _Aintin_ know_ t'_ come in?" Kathleen chuckled, not at all surprised that her daughter had thought to bring up the tradition of setting a glass of milk and a scone on the front step by the door for the spirits into the house for the evening.

"I will make sure _t' pu'_ the_ bannock an'_ milk out, love, and the barmbrack for_ th'_ fairies. _An'_ set the candles in _th'_ window."

"So _Aintin an' Daideó_ can_ fin'_ their way?" Her mother nodded. "_Wha' 'bout th'_ Pookas? They won't scare_ Aintin_ away, will they?" Kathleen shook her head.

"No, love._ Aintin_ will scare the Pookas away." Sarah giggled as Kathleen tickled her gently. "_T'morrow_ is_ th'_ Pooka's Day-"

"So we_ mus'_ be kind _an'_ sit _an'_ talk_ wit'_ him if_ 'e_ asks us to."

"_Tha's_ right, love. The _las'_ thing we want _t'_ do is incur a Pooka's wrath." As her daughter snuggled into her arms, Kathleen brushed another soft kiss to the girl's head. The young mother craned her neck, but her son was with his friends on the other side of the bonfire, roasting nuts in a pan, most likely having one of the older children or one of the other adults trying to divine his future, as was so common a game among the children of the Bogside nowadays. Though the old days had passed on long ago, some traditions still remained in the Emerald Isle, and in Derry, even with the violence that shook their community, the old pagan ways remained strong among the families that found no other obstacle but to fall back on their faith to get them through the violence. Minutes passed, before Timmy and Rowan came rushing back towards her, faces flushed and covered in soot from the fire, to ward off fairies.

_"Mams! They sta'ed t'gether! Th' nuts sta'ed t'gether!"_ His mother chuckled softly, giving her son a small smile.

"_Tha's_ good, love." Even though her son was too young to understand love and marriage, Kathleen knew enough about Celtic traditions to understand that the roasting of nuts over a fire foretold if a couple would stay together or not; but her son, at only twelve, knew nothing of divination, but the traditions and castings were fun, a way to keep normally rambunctious children entertained. Sarah yawned, and after several minutes, Kathleen took the children home.

By the time they returned home, Sarah was out cold, nestled on Kathleen's shoulder. After putting her youngest to bed, she came back downstairs to find Timmy and Rowan peeling apple cores at the kitchen table. Rowan's parents were watching the two children, and looked up when Kathleen joined them. She quickly poured three cups, and beckoned the adults into the kitchen._ "Mams!"_ She turned back, to see Timmy watching her, eyes wide. "_Th'_ milk for_ Aintin an' Daideó_-"

"I know, love. _An'_ set two more _a'_ table for them." Once she'd joined the other two in the living room, Elizabeth spoke up, accepting her cup with a smile.

"_D'_ Timmy _an_' Sarah _no'_ know All Souls Day_ 'tis_ two days from now?" Kathleen chuckled.

"_Aye, bu'_ they worry so _'bout_ Grae... since she died... they always make sure_ 'er_ place is _se'_ in advance." They continued to visit, stopping every so often at the laughter coming from the kitchen. Kathleen chuckled as she heard her son's reply to whatever Rowan had cried about. Timmy had turned twelve a month earlier, and all he'd asked for was for John to come home. And then, this morning, Kathleen had gotten the call that had sent the kids into excited jitters- John was on leave for the next three months; so he'd be home for Christmas as well. "Timmy, _wha'_ are _ye doin'_, love?" The boy poked his head into the living room; he held two eggs in his hands.

"Mrs. O'Lear_ taugh'_ Rowan _an'_ I_ 'ow t'_ read eggs." He replied, as though that explained everything, and his mother nodded.

"Egg whites, love, _no'_ eggs. Egg _whites_." The boy furrowed a brow. "_Th'_ clear film_ tha'_ covers the yolk." After a moment, the boy nodded, and disappeared back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the adults heard the unfortunate_ splat!_ as an egg missed the bowl of water and hit the floor, and then silence. They returned to their conversation, not getting far before,

"_Ye're goin' t' 'ave eigh'_ _children_!"

_"'tis no' funny, Timmy_!" Silence, followed by someone being hit, and a sharp,

_"'twas tha' for?"_

_"For laughin' a' me!"_ Another egg hit the floor, and then, "_'ow_ many are _ye goin' t' 'ave_?"

"None."

_"Ye dinna ev'n look!" _

_"Fine!"_ Suddenly, Rowan's whine reached their ears.

_"Tha's no' fair! 'ow come ye're gonna 'ave two, an' I'm gonna 'ave eight?" _

_"Maybe th' egg doesn' like ye. Ow!"_ A small part of Kathleen dreaded the mess she'd find when the kids were finished, but as along as it was keeping them entertained, she'd allow it for now. By the time Elizabeth and James took Rowan home, and Kathleen ordered her son to bed, it was close to midnight. She set out the barmbrack, milk and scones, and lit the candles in the windowsill before heading into the kitchen to get the plates out for dinner on All Souls Day.

A soft sigh escaped her throat as she studied the mess of apple skins on the floor- the old Celtic tradition of divining one's future spouse, by tossing an apple peel over the shoulder and then studying it to see the first initial of the person one would marry. Though old, it was still a tradition practiced today, if only for mere fun, and was not to be taken seriously. She knelt down to scoop them up, but stopped; she'd come into the kitchen to get Rowan so her parents could head home, and had watched as her son had tossed the last peel over his shoulder. He'd never had a chance to study it, because he'd told Rowan and her parents goodnight, and then Kathleen had ordered him to bed. Now, though, she dropped the others and moved closer to study her son's last peel.

If Kathleen didn't know any better, she could have sworn it looked like a 'Z.'


	22. Chapter 22

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Sprig for reviewing 21. **

_2012_

The walls were most _disgusting_ shade of orange she'd ever seen.

As she headed up to the director's office with John in tow and Agent Gibbs leading the way, Kathleen felt as though she were walking through the skin of a tangerine. How anyone got_ any_ work done in this building with the walls staring at them... She stopped on the first landing however, when she saw Timmy and Ziva enter the bullpen; they were deep in conversation, their gear over their shoulders and their fingers laced loosely together. After a moment, her son leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the Israeli's lips before pulling away and going to his desk. Gibbs cleared his throat, and she turned, to find him watching her. "As long as they keep it out of the office," and then he turned, heading up the next group of stairs to the catwalk and towards the Director's office.

Kathleen glanced back down at the bullpen, watching as Ziva perched on the edge of Tim's desk and reached out, gently caressing his cheek. But before she could study the girl further, Kathleen found herself in Director Vance's office, amid walls of soft, burnt sienna- a far cry from the hideous walls one was met with when they first entered the bullpen. "You must be Mr. and Mrs. McGee."

Safe to say, the American-born beauty was only slightly startled that her son's boss was African-American.

"John, _an'_ this is my wife, Kathleen." They quickly shook hands, before Vance asked them to sit. She studied the director, unable to take her gaze off him; during her time in Ireland- especially those early years at university- she'd only ever seen one African-American, or African, depending on where they were from. Not that Kathleen was biased towards them, she'd grown up around them back in California, long before Ireland. She just wasn't used to seeing them; Derry was still predominantly a Caucasian area, even to this day. "Kathleen. _Katlee_!" She snapped out of her study, turning to her husband.

"I... I'm sorry?" John sighed.

"_Directo'_ Vance asked _t'_ know Timothy's _hist'ry. 'is child'ood_, in_ Ir'land_." His wife nodded, gaze going back to Vance, who raised an eyebrow.

"Something I can help you with, Mrs. McGee?" She shook her head.

"No. I... I'm sorry, I_ jus'_... been a long time, since I've seen a... a man of _yer... color_." She whispered; John sighed, closing his eyes. He was afraid Kathleen would open her mouth like this; not that his wife was racist, far from it. She was a San Francisco child, for crying out loud. But since their marriage, she'd rarely set foot back in the States, unless the situation called for it, and hadn't been to San Fran in... decades. John held his breath, waiting for the director to blow a gasket and call security, but all Vance did...

Was laugh.

"Well, I can certainly say that this is one first meeting I'll never forget." He sat back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "How many years have you been in Ireland, Mrs. McGee?"

"Since I was... seventeen, _Direct'r_."

"So you weren't born there?" She shook her head.

"No. My husband was, as were Timothy _an'_ Sarah." She took a deep breath, licking her lips. _"Direct'r_ Vance, _me_ children... they... they grew up in..." She stopped, closing her eyes briefly before opening them and meeting his gaze. "in the era_ o' th'_ Troubles." Vance nodded, sighing.

"The conflict within Ireland that began in the sixties and... still, to this day, never really ended." Kathleen shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"They star'ed earlier than tha', Direct'r." Kathleen whispered; John reached over, lacing their hands.

"Katlee, the _direct'r dinna_ ask us up_ 'ere_ for a _'istroy_ lesson."

"No, it's all right, Admiral-"

"Captain." Vance raised an eyebrow. "_Afte'_ Tim's... breakdown, I... I retired_ fro' th'_ Navy._ Me_ boy_ 'twas_... more_ importan'_ than some_ titl'."_ John met Kathleen's gaze. "Tim _an'_ Sarah... they witnessed more violence than _chil'ren_ their age_ shoul' 'ave_."

"Have either of them ever been to therapy?" Kathleen bit her lip, before,

"_Aft'r_ Rowan died, we took Timmy, _bu'... bu' 'e_ refused_ t'_ talk. God knows _'ow_ much we _spen'_..." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. _"Dinna 'elp. 'e spen'_... a week in_ 'ospital,_ treated like a... a lunatic..._ bu'... 'e_ had..._ jus'_... just witnessed his... girlfriend's murder."

"Rowan?" Vance glanced toward Gibbs, who leaned back against the door.

"Rowan Gallagher." John whispered, squeezing his wife's hand. "She died on _th'_ sidewalk,_ fee'_ from_ 'er 'ouse. Sho' wit'_ a rubber bullet." John met Gibbs's eye as the agent perched on the edge of Vance's desk. "Timothy... tried_ t'_ save _'er... bu'_ she died in_ 'is_ arms. My son, graduated secondary _an'... wen' t'_ MIT two years _lat'r, t' ge'_ away."

"And he stayed." Vance replied, meeting John's gaze, who nodded.

_"'e_ came back in _'ninety-eigh'_, for Sarah's_ bir'day, an'_... they_ wen'_ up _t'_ Omagh... were_ caugh'_ in _th'_ bomb _blas'_."

"We'll do anything and everything, whatever Tim and Sarah need, Mr. and Mrs. McGee. You have my word." Vance replied. "Tim is one of mine. If he needs help, we'll get him help, as much as he and Sarah need." Kathleen gave him a small, grateful smile, before getting up.

"Thank _ye, Direct'r_ Vance. Excuse me." As she slipped out of the office, Gibbs followed, catching up to her on the catwalk. Gibbs watched her as she leaned against the catwalk, watching her son and his fiancée; Tony had yet to arrive, though that was typical for DiNozzo. Ziva had wandered over to Tim's desk, and was perched on the edge; though she couldn't hear what they were saying, she watched as Ziva reached out, lacing their fingers. "Take care _o' me_ son, _Agen'_ Gibbs. Timmy's fragile _righ'_ now. If he's reliving..._ 'twill_ be a_ poin'_ when_ ev'n_ she _won'_ be able_ t'_ bring him _ou'_ of it."


	23. Chapter 23

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Sprig for reviewing 21. **

_Two Hours before Dawn, November 1st,_

_All Saints Day, 1991_

His eyes snapped open, and after a moment, he sat up, glancing around once his eyes adjusted to the dark. Sighing softly, he slipped out of bed, being careful not to wake up Sarah or his mother. The boy kept quiet as he slipped down the hall and headed down the stairs to the front of the apartment. He slowly opened the door, being extra careful not to wake anyone else, before he poked his head outside. Green eyes widened in shock, as he watched... well, he wasn't really_ sure_ what it was.

It wasn't a horse, though it had a long, sleek black tail; it was closer to a giant, frightening rabbit with glowing golden eyes that was covered in horse hair. And_ it_ was sitting on the bench by the door, one leg crossed over the other, as though it were a man in a fancy suit watching a horse race, like in _My Fair Lady_. Timmy gasped, unable to look away. _"Pooka_." Slowly, the creature turned its head towards the door, locking its golden eyes on him, and he quickly ducked back behind the closed hardwood.

"Come now, come outside _an'_ chat_ wit'_ me a bit. I do _no'_ bite." Slowly, the boy opened the door, and glancing over his shoulder, stepped out onto the step, closing it softly behind him, even as the creature grinned, baring its hideous horse-like teeth. The creature patted the space gently. "_Ye_ are new here I think. Many years ago I used _t'_ live in this house." The boy glanced at the space, before lowering himself onto it in silent shock. He'd heard the legends, the stories of the Pookas and banshees and fairies that walked the world on Samhain, but he'd never seen one in person.

Maybe because they didn't exist; they were just stories to scare children.

_But 'ow do I explain this t' Mams?_

"_Aye_, _'twas_ a little boy, _'bout_ _yer_ age _tha'_ used to live in this very house. His_ Da_ was a wealthy banker, _an'_ he could have anything he wanted in the world. But he was a very greedy little boy, not like you at all, I am guessing, for you don't appear to be a greedy little boy." The creature stopped, thinking. "Are you a greedy little boy?" The child shook his head. "Good. Very bad things happen to greedy boys and girls. Unfortunately, this little boy's greed affected his entire family. Now one afternoon..."

Cautiously, only partially listening to the story, Timmy reached out to brush his fingers along the creature's fur; it looked down before meeting his young listener's gaze. Quickly, the boy pulled back, not making eye contact. "A curious one, aren't _ye_?" Slowly, a nod answered. "That curiosity will get ye through life, young one." It studied him, reaching out and gently lifting the child's chin. "Such gorgeous green eyes; _'tis_ a dark girl who will fall madly in love_ wit'_ those eyes _o' yers_."

"W... who?" Timmy's whisper was strained, frightened, and he glanced over his shoulder towards Rowan's house. But it shook its head, ears wagging.

"Back when_ yer_ prophecy was set, this girl_ 'ad no'_ even been born yet._ An' ye_ were barely a twinkle in _yer Mams's_ eye." The thing was silent, studying the child it sat conversing with. "_Ye_ will find no lovelier a beauty than _th'_ desert can produce, young one."

"I _don'_-"

"_Ye_ will_ no'_ meet her_ 'ere_."

"Then... wh... where will I... where will I meet_ 'er_?" The boy's whisper was soft, and after a moment,

_"'cross th'_ sea, in_ th'_ land_ yer Mams_ is from." Timmy furrowed a brow.

_"Bu' Mams-"_

"She _dinna_ tell_ ye tha'_ she is _no' o'_ this land?" The Pooka- for Timmy was sure that was what this odd-looking creature was- laughed softly. "_'tis_ a shame, _bu' unde'standable. 'twas_ young when she came,_ yer Mams. An' ye_ will be young when_ ye_ go _t' 'er_ land." Timmy shook his head.

_"Bu'_ I will _no'_ go_ anywhe'e. 'twill_ stay _'ere._ I... always stay_ 'ere_." He whispered, replied, meeting the Pooka's gaze. The Pooka, meanwhile, raised and eyebrow- or, rather, widened its gaze more- and sat back. It chuckled.

_"Ye_ will_ no'_ stay._ Ye_ will leave_ an'_ return,_ bu' ye_ will _no'_ stay._ Y_er life is_ no'_ in these cursed hills._ Yer_ life... _'tis makin'_ good, in new land. _Bu' no' 'ere_.'

"_Bu'... 'ow_ will I..._ 'ow_ will I help _Mams wit'_ Sarah?" The creature noticed the fear in the boy's eyes, and gently chucked the child beneath the chin.

"_'twill no'_ need_ ye,_ by then."

"I _don' und'r_-"

One long finger came up to rest against the creature's lips, and gently, it shushed the boy. "Do_ no'_ debate _th'_ prophecies given _ye,_ lad._ 'tis no'_ I who lays_ ou' th'_ prophecies, I_ jus'_ relay_ 'em_."

"_Wh'_ is she? _Th'... th'_ girl-" The Pooka scooted closer, wrapping an arm around Timmy's shoulders; the boy shuddered, frightened, but didn't pull away.

"_'tis_ a beauty like _ye nev'r_ seen_ b'fore_, young one. As wild_ an'_ free as _th'_ hills _beyon'_ us._ An' ye_ will follow in _yer Mams's_ footsteps, _nev'r t' ret'rn_."

"_Bu'... bu' I love I'eland!_ I _dinna wanna_ leave!" He cried, pulling away from the Pooka. It laid a finger against the boy's lips, silencing his protests. "_'twill_ be_ giv'n_ a choice,_ bu' 'twill_ follow_ 'er. Yer 'eart 'twill_ dictate, _no' yer 'ead_." Then, the creature leaned close, its lips brushing against the boy's ear, the words soft, yet frightening as they penetrated his mind. _"Trus' th' eve, an' b'ware th' lies, young one._ _Th'_ eve will lead_ ye 'ome_."

"Timmy, love?" The boy turned, to find his mother standing on the porch, her coat on and wrapped around her. _"Wha'_ are _ye doin'_ out here? _'tis _nearly dawn, and_ ye_ need to be in bed."

"I was-" But the boy stopped when he turned to introduce his mother to the Pooka. He furrowed his brow. "_'twas vistin', wit'_ a _Pooka, Mams! 'twas righ' 'ere_! I..."

Kathleen rushed to her son, kneeling in front of him. "Love, it's late, _an' ye_ need to be in bed. Okay? Come on; let's get _ye_ inside before _ye_ catch cold." She helped her son to his feet, but the boy glanced back at the bench as they headed into the house. "_'twas jus'_ a dream, love." He could have _sworn_ he'd been talking with a Pooka for the last two hours. He tried to study the bench, but not a trace of the creature remained.

Maybe _Mams_ was right, maybe it was just a dream.


End file.
